Masquerade
by Celebdil-Galad and Tinlaure
Summary: Captured as prisoners of war by the Haradrim, Legolas and Aragorn are tortured ruthlessly at the hands of their host. If things go as planned there will be no dawn for either Elf or ranger, but first one must break.
1. As the Seasons Change

**This story takes place sometime when Aragorn was in Gondor under the alias Thorongil. That means it is about twenty years ahead of our last fic. A big leap we know but the next story will take place directly after 'The Folly of Men'. Sorry guys. **

**You do not have to of read all the others in order to get what we are talking about in this one. Though there will be a few references off and on. But they will be explained for the most part. No worries! **

**Of course this is a **_non-slash and smut free_** piece of work. We only write about friendship, camaraderie, brotherly love and the natural love between parents and their children. **

**Happy reading. We look forward to hearing from you and reading your reviews...hint…hint…review please! **

**Title: **_Masquerade _

**Authors: **_Celebdil-Galad and Tinlaure _

**Summary: **

Captured as prisoners of war by the Haradrim, Legolas and Aragorn are tortured ruthlessly at the hands of their host. If things go as planned there will be no dawn for either Elf or ranger, but first one must break.

Though more than their lives and spirits are at stake, an ancient alliance and bond could be shattered and all Middle Earth could be condemned. The fates of many, rest squarely on the shoulders of Legolas and Aragorn, will they give under the pressure?

**Rated: **PG-13

**: DISCLAIMER :**

We do not own anything of Tolkein's Lord of the Rings Trilogy or any other works by he or his family. We wish we could write like that though.

**Please enjoy and review! Reviews are always good-_Smiles-_ Thanks! **

**Part I **

**0o0: 0o0 "Masquerade" 0o0: 0o0**

**CHAPTER ONE**

As the Seasons Change

The night was dark, very dark, not to mention bleak. The description just wouldn't be accurate without the word 'bleak'. A storm threatened to break in horrible wrath any moment and Aragorn looked grimly at his blonde companion. "So how far ahead are they my friend?" he inquired as to the position of the Haradrim enemy that all knew were lying in wait for them at some point.

Legolas Greenleaf smiled thinly and leaning close to the ranger, whose hood was drawn about his face, whispered his reply. "Well, Thorongil, they lie just over in the ledges of the dried up creek bed and deep in the foliage. They are strong, we are never going to make it past them." The Elf's voice was indisposed and he looked past the hood into his friend's eyes with a look of intense worry.

"Double-cloaked Elf," sneered a man near Aragorn's left; his second lieutenant. "With all due respect sir, how do we know we can trust him?" asked the man as he stared the scowling blonde being down.

Legolas gave the man who was questioning his honesty and honor an I-am-a-_Elf_-prince-and-you-doubt-my-word look. His narrow blue eyes spoke of irritation and discontent. Aragorn was not going to stand idly by and let this slur against his friend stand. "And with all due respect to you, officer, you question more than the Prince Legolas when you ask if he is trustable, you question my choice of friends and allies."

The man glared at his junior officer and the other man didn't seem to be put off. "Sir, I never meant to question your abilities, but every attack we have had ourselves in the midst of was known to him before the rest of us."

"Are you going to continue to question my sincerity, sir?" asked the disguised ranger tersely with a knitted brow and darkened gray eyes.

"I suppose I had better not, Captain," concluded the other man as he gazed into the deepening darkness, avoiding Aragorn's piercing gaze and the sharp and annoyed glare of the offended Elf.

Legolas turned his attention back to Aragorn serenely, but he kept half of his hearing turned back towards the men who he did not doubt would like nothing better than to kill him and call it an accident. He wasn't about to become some tragic victim of their fears, but he wasn't about to strive fruitlessly against them. He could never win and resistance would only make there opinion of him worse.

Aragorn knew what Legolas was thinking and he gently placed a hand on Legolas' shoulder and guided the Elf in the front, before him. Putting himself between his friend's back and the ones whom would like to stab it. He whispered dispiritedly, "Is there any alternative at all, Legolas?"

"None that would be less risky than the attack itself," came the forbidding response. As Legolas watched the trees and foliage sway in the wind of the upcoming storm he let loose a small and inaudible sigh. He felt the trees distress but he also felt their hostile nature towards him and his friends. In the distance, lightening flickered and sent tendrils of blazing volts across the darkened sky. "Remind me again why we came down South to fight Haradrim?" he said as he calculated the throbbing air and rumbling thunder with his scrupulous hearing.

Aragorn looked at the Elf's stony face and anxious eyes. "I don't know about you, but I came down because they were a threat to Gondor and as a ranger that happens to be one of my jobs...protecting Gondor that is."

Legolas smiled dilutely and gave the ranger a somewhat dubious look. "And I vaguely recall your brothers saying that you wouldn't stay down here more than a few days before you came crawling back. Bets are dangerous things you know," he whispered in a tone that was filled with as much laughter as his fluctuating looking eyes as the friends crouched down now with the men in the brush, waiting for the Haradrim to launch their attack.

"And I remember someone else who's father told him that he needed to settle down and get married and if I recall that same someone disappeared that very night and trailed me everywhere until I consented to having him as a companion," teased the young human lightly. Making fun of his Elven companion was rejuvenating if it was nothing else and he was sure that Legolas had about the same opinion regardless of the fact that he was the center of the jests.

Legolas sniffed in mock contempt, "you exaggerate ranger. He said nothing about getting married." Aragorn just smiled in the dark.

The men laughed and snickered quietly behind the Elf and ranger. Even though they didn't trust the Elf as far as they could shoot him, they did enjoy the teasing between the two friends that brightened the darkest moments and made the prospect of dying a little easier to bear. They carefully prepared to draw their weapons and the archers readied their bows.

Lightning flashed and in the faint light that lasted only a brief moment, Legolas and Aragorn smiled at one another and the Elf grabbed his bow from its place over his shoulder and grabbed a random arrow from the quiver on his back. Aragorn gripped the hilt of his sword tightly.

The enemy was near, they could feel it in the growing tense air that seemed to throb in their ears precariously. The trap was about to spring and it was growing rigid in preparation for the pounce, like a cat playing with a mouse. The thought did nothing to help the blonde Elf's mood as he ran his hand along the feathers on his arrow shaft. He did not like getting played around with under any circumstances and the thought that a regiment of Haradrim warriors had managed thrice to catch them in a snare was disturbing.

Legolas knew that the blame for this attack had been squarely placed on his shoulders by the men and he had no doubt that if a few of them lived they would find a way to make sure he did not. But, he mused angrily, how was it his fault that he always knew the attack before them? He was a scout, what in the name of great Manwë had they expected him to do? Rolling his eyes inwardly with disgust at the men's' ungrateful attitudes, Legolas knew it was because he was an Elf. If a man had been the scout and placed himself in that kind of danger then he would have been congratulated and believed without the slightest hesitation. But because he was an Elf they didn't care what dangers he was placed in and the Elven prince knew with a stab of what could be called slight heartache, that despite all his labors for their well being they would rather that he never came back. Legolas felt a bitter anger rising as he realized what he had thought for a long time was true; they would rejoice to see an arrow embedded in his heart.

The wind blew stronger and as Legolas listened beside Aragorn he heard a series of war cries, like wolves on a hunt, arise in the air and suddenly something whistled past his ear and a javelin hit the dirt by his foot. He crouched lower in surprise and slight fear, and heard everyone else doing the same. Well at least he wasn't alone, thought the Elf candidly.

But no more shafts came and Aragorn whispered grimly, "they are taunting us. But the attack will not be put off long." A huge shadow loomed not more than a couple hundred yards off and lightening revealed it to be what Legolas already knew as an oliphaunt.

Its bulk was painted in bright paint. As the thunder rumbled Legolas looked back at Aragorn and whispered, "they are close enough to launch their attack."

The ranger murmured, "I know. Stay down, Legolas. Be careful." The last thing he wanted was one of those thick-shafted javelins in his friend's back or head. He looked back at the men he was leading and whispered, "steady. Perhaps we can surprise them if you keep calm." The proposition was more of a command than a conferral.

The men looked stony faced at one another and shifted quietly in the bracken and shrubs.

A small drop hit Legolas on the nose and he thought, wonderful, the storm is moving in. This is going to make fun combat weather. He sighed under his breath and watched as figures ahead moved soundlessly through the brush and positioned themselves all around the surrounded contingent.

Legolas suddenly shouted, "look out! "As he heard the bows of the enemy drawn back and then released. Bolts thudded against trees, stone, dirt and bodies. A few cries came from those wounded, those dead had been slain silently.

Then the battle began.

Legolas and Aragorn fought side by side as best they could, watching one another's back.

Everything was chaos, between claps of thunder, the cries of men dying and bleeding, oliphaunts crying in agony as arrows found their marks in the large creatures' hides.

In the lightning Legolas saw a man aiming his spear for Aragorn, who was preoccupied with another in intense combat. Drawing the bolt of his bow back so the feathers were along his cheek, Legolas shot the enemy's man dead quicker than sight.

He had hardly time to notch another arrow before he found himself assailed by a number of foes that came out of nowhere. As he looked around he found himself lost in a sea of enemy faces and immediately back stepping in pure instinct, he suddenly felt his boot go against nothing. Air. He was trapped on the edge of the cliff that overlooked the dried up creek bed.

Aragorn spun around as he struck out with his long sword and seeing his friend assailed by foes on all sides, the man gave a cry of trepidation and dismay. Taking his attention away from his own enemies trying to kill him, he ran towards Legolas, who was firing off arrows as quickly as possible, but his quiver was running out and his enemies were pressing in closer. Legolas realized with alarm that they were not trying to kill him, they were trying to capture him.

The ranger stumbled in weariness and abruptly felt a sting as something bit into his shoulder, no, his collarbone. He felt it rip through the muscle of his chest and crack through the bone in a violent assail on a path to his heart. He then hearing a strangled cry he had hardly realized he had given, the young ranger looked up to see Legolas staring straight at him with a contorted face of horror and rage even as the Elf ducked a blow intended to render him unconscious.

He must be hurt badly, or else Legolas would never look at him thus. Aragorn knew it and he looked to see thick-shafted javelin in his chest, just beneath the collarbone, dangerously close to his heart.

Aragorn felt hot blood run over his tunic and he gasped in horrible pain. It was shockingly hard to breathe. He felt as though he had a weight upon his chest, pressing down relentlessly and biting him fiercely.

He saw Legolas struggle to get to him and he saw the Elf notch his last arrow and looking where the fair being was aiming, he saw a Haradrim warrior just above him, ready to drive a scimitar into his skull.

But dazed, Aragorn told his muscles to move and they didn't respond.

Looking up he saw a green and white-feathered shaft sing through the air just as a blinding streak of lightning lit up the sky about them.

But Aragorn could feel the heat of the lightening, blinding, searing, and sending tendrils of volts of current through his body. But when he looked up all he saw was a bunch of dead Haradrim and Legolas, being hurled backwards and over the brink of the ledge and into the dried up creek bed below.

Aragorn felt huge ran drops begin to splash all around him and finding his legs, he ran stumbling to the edge of the cliff and fell to his knees as he looked over the edge and saw a pale and forlorn Legolas lying below.

The Elf's body was at a strange and twisted angle on the rocks beneath, so it made Aragorn think that his friend had broken his back. He felt a pang run through is heart and he could not tell if it was because of the javelin in his breast or because his heart had just shattered at the sight of his mutilated friend. He saw the Elf's lips moving faintly and then his chest rise and fall, and then after a violent shiver, the convulsing form of the blonde Elf lay completely still.

If Aragorn had had a difficult time breathing before, he found it impossible now. As hard as it was for him believe it, Legolas had been _thrown _by the lightning into the gaping pit below, his body smashing against the rocks. His mind was going through enough torture seeing his contingent annihilated but now that he saw his dearest friend lying mangled below he felt like his chest had been ripped into shreds and he knew it came from more than the wound be bore. As Aragorn gazed groggily down into the pit his mind reeled, taking in all the gore and bodies that were beginning to float in the rising water. The creek bed had become a mass grave.

It was more than the ranger could bear. The men he had been entrusted with and who had trusted him back were dead or captured. It was a heart-wrenching failure, one he wasn't sure he could endure. He knew now how Gil-Galad and other wise beings, like his foster father, must have felt after seeing their troops slain in battle and mercilessly tramped upon by the cruel feet of the enemy as though they were being ground into useless and unrespectable dust.

The rain became heavier, as if all heaven cried for his lost friend. Thunder rumbled loudly and lightening strapped across the sky in bright purple and white flares casting light on all the pale faces coated in blood.

Aragorn didn't even bother to remove the barbed spear from his chest and he just leaned forward, not caring if it was pressed deeper into his flesh. His wavy dark hair hung limply with perspiration and rainwater as he hung his head in despair and horrible, twisted agony. His eyes were fixed unmovable on Legolas' helpless and wrecked form, the Elf's hair thrown over one side of his face and plastered to it by the rain.

Legolas blinked in numb awe as he gazed up at the sky and watched the rainfall upon his pale face as he began to come free of his shock that still held a slight grip over his boggled mind. It felt good just to lay still and breathe again. He watched the sky intently, with all its strange and wondrous tendrils of purple and white and the darkness of the blackened world beyond while crystal rain beat upon him.

It was cold enough in the desert at night. The temperature often dropped to single digit number or below. He shivered as he felt his clothes getting soaked to the bone and the bone seemed to be pierced to the marrow. The rocks of the sandy and hard bottom bit into his cold skin like jagged knives and he tried to move, but he found that it was impossible. That alone was enough to send new stab of fear throughout his awareness.

Looking inquisitively up at the edge of the cliff where he guessed he had fallen from, he saw Aragorn hanging over the brim of the precipice, bent over in agony or grief, Legolas could not tell and he closed his eyes in passionate and physical pain. He wondered if he had broken something and thought it would be a miracle if he hadn't.

He shuddered and then looked up again and as if Aragorn had known Legolas had opened his eyes, the man lifted his head and saw the wide blue orbs staring up into his own gray ones, wondering if he were alright. Legolas' face was still pale and he lay in a contorted form nevertheless, unmoving but his eyes spoke volumes about his thoughts.

After the ordeal Legolas had just gone through, Aragorn was touched to know his best friend was seeing if he was well first. When the Elf's sharp eyes caught the scarlet water running from the man's tunic he knew Aragorn was wounded and he cried up towards the ranger in a horror filled cry, "Thorongil!"

But it was then Legolas realized he could not hear, or at least, not like he used to. Everything was muffled and sounded so far away, even his own voice. He felt cold fear clutch at his stomach in a tight and frigid knot that threatened to grow and break through.

Everything had seemed unreal to begin with, now it was totally surreal and Legolas found himself floating in the juxtaposition of two worlds; fantasy and reality. He felt like he was dying and yet he felt nothing at all and seemed to be watching time drag by in slow motion. Why was it the painful moments seemed to last forever and the joyous faded so fast?

Legolas did not know and he determined rather quickly now was not the time to wonder.

He swallowed hard and saw Aragorn looking at him with dropped jaw and saying something, but he could not hear it. He was going deaf or slowly dying, he couldn't differentiate. The Elf did not even remember what had happened exactly, but he knew he had fallen and he knew he had felt a terrific jolt go through him, running around in his insides and feeling like it as unwinding him through and through.

"Thorongil!" he cried up to Aragorn as the man suddenly found himself surrounded by the enemy. The Elf's cry was desperate and overwhelmed and it delved into the ranger's heart as he realized his friend needed him and he couldn't be there. But he had no time for further thought about Legolas, his men or the rising rain water…anything. All his thought now went to the enemy that surrounded him in a tight, merciless mass.

The precipitation was coming in buckets and Legolas felt the flowing water rising about him, cold and tickling. The ground had been so hard form lack of rain that in this rainy season flash floods were not uncommon.

As the torrential rains spilled around him, Legolas watched in a haze as his best friend was set in bonds and lead away to only the Valar knew where. This didn't make Legolas despair, at least, not in the initial thoughts and reactions. His initial thoughts were intense wrath and a longing to deliver death to every last one of those cursed Haradrim men and personally scalp their leader. But seeing as how that was not possible, he began to retreat into an abyss of guilt and mourning that he felt was well earned on his part.

If only he had been quick enough, if only he had been there when Aragorn needed him most. Cursing himself inwardly in every tongue he knew and even considering for a brief moment making up a few of his own, the Elf-prince felt hot tears burn his eyes despite the cold rain and biting winds. He wanted to scream, but that would do no good.

Aragorn struggled as many warriors of the Haradrim pressed him down and made him completely immobile; he was all but suffocating. But his wound did not allow him to grapple much anyway. He kicked with his feet as the faint and fleeting opportunity arouse but as he did, the javelin was yanked out with a distinguished twist followed by a sickening popping sound and the ranger lurched forward accompanied by a cry before he was slammed into the ground harshly by his subjugators.

His face was smeared into the mud and grime and when that didn't put an end to his fighting a hand came and tangled itself in his dark and wet hair before using it as a painful handle to slam his skull into the ground. Stars danced before Aragorn's eyes and he struggled very little now as he was pulled up to his knees and his arms yanked behind him, and then twisted brutally for good measure before being tightly bound and rebound with thick hemp. A man, with dark eyes and a muscular build stood before him, spear in hand.

He was tall too, as far as Haradrim went and the way he carried himself lead the captive to believe that he was one of distinguished rank among the Southron Men. War paint of a bright red color was about his face and drawn in extravagant designs. He had earrings of gold and a nose ring with a red stone set in it.

His right hand tightly clenched a sword and Aragorn noticed absentmindedly that he had many rings upon it, including a seal of the Haradrim. He was a prince among them then or someone close to the King in one way or another.

"Greetings, Ranger," he said haltingly, Westron spoken by the rangers was not his first language and he wanted Aragorn to hear every word he said. This was not exactly a comforting thought, but Aragorn was too groggy at the moment to really try and discern the man's dark purpose. All he knew was that he was wet, miserable, weary, and first and foremost, utterly furious.

"For so I hold you," the Harad man went on slowly. "None would fight half so well and," he sneered suddenly, "and my intelligence reports you are close to the Elf-spy." He tapped his fingers on his sword hilt rhythmically as though he was calculating what to say next. The annoying sound got on Aragorn's nerves and made him feel even more uncomfortable than he was.

Aragorn twisted in his bonds and strong hands gripping his bound arms so tightly bruises were left, held him firmly in place. He glared up at the man with degenerate and uncaring eyes that still sparked a fierce defiance in their own way.

"Where is the Elf? He wouldn't die so easily." said the man as he watched the mute ranger with amused eyes that glittered in a flash of lightning. The Haradrim man then drove his boot into Aragorn's stomach, causing more hot blood to suddenly burst out of his collarbone wound. "Where is the Elf?"

The captor's attention was momentarily distracted as he watched other prisoners get rounded up at spear point. It was enough time for the hostage ranger to grit his teeth in agony and he doubled into himself against the hands holding him.

The Haradrim mortal narrowed his eyes and said in a commanding voice, "have you nothing to say?"

"Not for your ears, Slave of Sauron," spat the ranger back with difficulty. He was certain that the words 'Slave of Sauron' were not necessary to answer to stupid question (in his opinion), but in his usual manner, he had to infuriate his captors to madness. Of course he didn't do that on purpose, but he never could really stop himself either. Elrond was convinced that this was something the twins had taught him, the young Dúnadan recalled gloomily.

The rain, tumbling down still in buckets, provided little help for the interrogation of the prisoner. And when the Haradrim warrior thought about it more, it provided no help. He glanced at the captain to his left and nodded, "We are moving out. I can't imagine even an Elf surviving out in this."

**TBC…well now, that is sort of a cliffie. -Contented sigh- they already found trouble. Well too bad for them. However, our darker sides are satisfied. _Please review._ We love to hear from you and as this is the first chapter they are especially important. **


	2. Silent Storms and Clandestine Dreams

_**CHAPTER TWO**_

Silent Storms and Clandestine Dreams 

He was stupid. That was the conclusion the blonde Elf came to as he lay in the bottom of the reviving stream. Staring up at the steep embankment, the fair-haired being known there was not a chance a man or Elf could get up that. He watched the rain come and he watched the lightning flash, unable to hear the thunder roll. He had been stupid for believing that a single arrow could have saved his friend when there had still been over fifty foes on their feet with more coming. He had been stupid for trying to convince the men to trust him. In summation, he had just been _really_ stupid. No… _extremely_ stupid _and_ under the influence of a gripping madness.

Now Aragorn was captured and most likely soon to be dead. And he was trapped down here, unable to do anything. You can't predict the lightning you fool, he told himself with an inward shake of the head. However, he still felt like an idiot for getting trapped on the edge of a cliff in the first place. Were his fighting capabilities no better than that?

Looking to his right, he saw the pasty white face of a dead man, a Gondorian man. With eyes glazed over and blood running from his nose and mouth to mix into he water, which alone was enough to make Legolas sick. And the fact that the deceased mortal was up stream and the bloodied water flowed over Legolas as the Elf was still stricken immobile from being so close to the lightning's impact was not helping his stomach's strange feeling either. If anything it was enhancing its abilities to create vomit. The water was a repulsive and deep crimson and still turning darker with enemy and allied blood alike. He noticed one thing that gave him a twisted regret: all of the blood was red, none of it was black. There had been no orcs, simply men fighting men…and himself, the only Elf.

Legolas felt his feeling coming back and he felt his nerves regaining their control over his body, but his hearing was not returning and that was a bit frightening. He had never realized how much he had relied on hearing alone. It gave a whole new meaning to the saying; "you never know what you've got until it's gone".

The blonde being could see the water rising slowly but surely and he knew it was get out of the fast flowing water or die. He began to work his numb and freezing fingers first, clenching and unclenching them. He knew the blood was still in them of course, but the fact that they were cold from the water was not helping. It felt like they were detached from his body except for the fact that occasionally they gave him slight twinges of pain as he supposed they were getting cut upon the rocks.

It was rushing to his face now and his golden hair streamed out about him and washed over his eyes as the water began to rise quicker. He gulped the frigid air and struggled, pressing his boots against the rocks and boulders for support. He had to keep his head above the surface. He could feel the icy water closing in and biting his flesh, freezing him and he began to shake. Suddenly the urge to sleep became very strong and his blonde head stopped jerking and leaping out of the water.

What was he fighting for? This was it, everything was over. This was the end of all his hopes and dreams. _This was the end of everything._ Dying didn't sound too painful and the frigidness of the water seemed to lulling him gently to sleep as he felt the current taking him along. Besides, if he were dead, he would get to rest…and that sounded so…peaceful, so wonderful that he let his muscles relax.

He ceased struggling and just watched the clouds roll across the sky in flickering forms as lightning ripped holes in them with purple streaks. He wasn't frightened anymore, at least for himself, he realized with a stab of guilt that was not easily suppressible.

Aragorn was captured, or lying dying somewhere, with a wound that from what the Elf had seen, was mortal. He had failed his friend and would only help the enemy if he stopped fighting now. Aragorn would fight for him, and Legolas knew it. It was the least he could do to drag himself form the watery grave he was meant to have and track Aragorn on foot.

The current swept him under suddenly and water filled his nose and as he gaped it rushed to fill his mouth and enter into his lungs to suffocate him. He looked around under the current and saw the corpses of more men, floating by his side, showing him what he would be if he stopped now. Legolas felt fear grow inside and blowing bubbles through is mouth, he narrowed his eyes, glaring down at a huge boulder below that he was sinking to rest with. It was dark and he could only see it because of the way the water parted around it.

He was slammed into it feet first and pressing against it with all he had left, Legolas forced a way to the surface of the sinuous river. Once his head broke the frothing crest of the water, Legolas reached a hand up to brush his loose, blonde hair from his face, where it had been plastered and he drew a deep breath. You never could realize just how sweet even horribly foul air was until you have been deprived of it, mused Legolas to himself. Not that this air was foul, but if it had been he was certain it would have still tasted like honey, or maple sugar, if air had a flavor that was recognizable.

Another boulder ahead that jutted out of the water offered hope and the Elf let the current take him to it and plaster him against it. Then, all but giving it a huge hug, he managed to climb so only his waist and below was in the water.

Clutching its jagged surface and feeling it cut his skin, Legolas knew he was still alive and this wasn't some nightmare. Then, he coughed and a slight bit of water came up from his lungs, answering the question as to why his breathing had been hampered when he seemingly had no water in the organs. At least he knew he was still breathing. Just keep thinking those positive thoughts, he told himself silently with an inward and sardonic grin.

Resting his face on the rock, he took in all the air he could and then he finally felt hot tears begin to run down his pale and nearly transparent cheeks, creating their own littler rivers to join the oscillating water that would splash up and froth about his features. At first he felt incredibly stupid. He didn't know why he was crying, but he was. He hadn't cried like this in a while and an acute feeling of helplessness and hopelessness set in. But then the reason for the tears came to him in a reminder of painful clarity.

Shivering, he let the tears fall. He had lost Aragorn, he was all alone and half-dead. He was freezing and he had no knowledge of the world about him. Legolas had never really traveled this far South. His knowledge was only the things Aragorn had taught him.

The rivers all flowed South. Though he had known that himself, it didn't hurt that Aragorn had reminded him, forgetting he was dealing with a couple thousand and some years old Elf. But Aragorn had told him that since this was a desert climate, the people of Harad often built their towns and strong hold along the rivers.

Still crying and biting back sobs of failure, the Elf thought glumly that ending up in a Haradrim village was about the last thing he needed to have happen. He had no desire to get sacrificed or turned into a slave of only Valar knew what sort with these people. His shoulders shook and he couldn't hold back sobs of bitter despair, fear, and anger.

He felt like he as dying inside even if he was alive on the outside. Legolas narrowed his eyes and yelled at the water"my friend is in trouble and you are holding me back" He snarled"curse you" He didn't care if it was stupid to scream at water, it made him feel better to vent his frustrations and wrath upon something reasonably tangible.

This water was not the water of the river Nimrodel, and it was not friendly with Elves to begin with, so naturally Legolas felt his anger returned. He didn't care and he crinkled his blonde brows in fierce bitterness. Not able to blame this situation on anyone else, he blamed it on the water, rushing, frothing, pulling at him, calling him to die and forget the greatest friend in the world.

He choked and cried"I failed" He sobbed irrepressible and then he closed his eyes to try and block out the situation he as in. He couldn't hear, he was trapped and freezing, Aragorn was captured or worse.

He then remembered something that Aragorn had told him long ago, _you are my best friend Legolas. Whenever you feel like you are in trouble and can't go on, just remember that and remember that I will do anything to help you. Even travel leagues upon leagues in a few days if need be. _

This was some encouragement and Legolas felt his tears stop abruptly as though on command and a temporary calmness filled his mind. If Aragorn would do that for him, then he would do the same back. What was he doing feeling sorry for himself and letting undeserved guilt weigh him down? It would mean going further South into Manwë alone knew what dangers, but that was where he was going.

Recalling how his father had often called him insane, Legolas managed to crack a smile as he saw the truth in the allegation. He gave a wry and emotionless laugh before he looked at the water and watched it flame up in its fury against the rock he was clinging against for dear life. It was not going to get the best of him and he smirked at it darkly, as though it was a foe he had longed to defeat for a long time and finally sent to the Halls of Waiting.

Now, there was one problem that remained as far as this dilemma in the water went; getting free of the large and meager salvation of the reef without drowning. That was going to be a challenge he had never even dimly thought of in his craziest and most dark dreams.

As he was pressed to the rock by the force of the water current, he watched things slip by, bodies, lost and forlorn, fallen trees, arrows and leaves, fading and gliding past as though they had wings and the water were the air. Staring at the water himself once more, he began to see it as a devious being of its own. He snickered inwardly and wondered if Ulmo, Lord of the Waters was as devious as the water seemed to be at the moment.

He wouldn't find trouble believing it and then he wondered if Ulmo might be merciful enough to calm these wrathful waters and spare him. However, he doubted that as one of the top ten things on the god's list.

He saw a dead horse float by and that in itself was not surprising, many of them had to have been wounded and unable to gallop to the safety of the hills and higher placed woods. As Haradrim warriors popped up from beneath the current, Legolas felt strangely satisfied, for he saw a green and yellow feathered shaft sticking from the enemy's throat. It was satisfying to know he had slain at least one of these humans-if indeed that was the right word for them-who had injured his friend and slain many men with families.

Others might have felt a slight guilt, but not Legolas. It wasn't like he had wanted to kill these men to start with. He never wanted to go to war with Aragorn and hoped he never would again. But all was fair in love and war, or so he had heard. It was kill or be killed. He didn't enjoy it like some warriors of other races did. Of course the fact that he was rationalizing made him wonder if he did have some guilt somewhere inside. Reminding himself that war had killed those men, not himself, the Elf decided he would have to let go of the rock before he was going anywhere.

This was kind of laughable, because when he was younger, before his mother's death, he had been walking with her and had gotten stuck up in a tree. A simple walk had been too much to ask for and she had the hardest time just getting him to let go of one branch and grip another to gradually begin to climb down.

Now he was on his own and had to force himself to let go with no guidance. But he as older now, so he could do this, right? Not exactly. Looking at his fingers, holding on so tightly they were white at the knuckles he frowned and narrowed his eyes.

Willing his hand to shift one finger from its deadlock position in a crevice, he felt a thrill of victory that swiftly ebbed and was lost when a wave of water made him return his tight grip. Cursing himself, the blonde prince finally just placed his faith in Ulmo's mercy and let his grip slide free.

Instantly the rapids engulfed him and he felt strangely calm. He felt a strangeness of calmness and detachment followed by hope, a combination of emotions that one was not most likely to feel as he sank beneath the surface of the rapids and was in dire danger of drowning.

He looked at the surface longingly for a moment and then let the water take him. It was odd that for being an Elf and living for a long time compared to a human, nothing could have ever prepared him for this. He felt like he was in another world. He wasn't frightened anymore, but in awe.

A mass of rising and bursting bubbles beneath the surface of the churning and foaming water caught Legolas' eye and he stared at it intensely. Still contemplating the thought of how the bubbles were swirling into neat shapes and sparkled like purple and nebulous stars, he came to the realization that they pointed out a dip in the rapids and a place to get pulled under and swirled around enough to suck the breath out and force the water into the lungs.

He remembered when Elrohir had been pulled out of the water after slipping from the top of a dam (while trying to pull a potentially lethal stunt of course) and how he had been so shaken, Elladan couldn't travel within site of the dam while in the company of Elrohir. Elrohir had been nearly drowned and frightened out of his mind for weeks. Of course they had all found it funny after a while, but in the beginning it was hardly amusing.

Legolas did not have much time to ponder this before he was pulled suddenly much farther under the superficies of the water than he had ever thought and for a brief moment a look of trepidation and confusion crossed his fair face.

Then everything blurred and he was twisted in the water. He felt the liquid sneaking its way into his mouth as he parted his lips to scream. His hair became wrapped around his face and he slammed into something and had the sensation of vomit rising in the back of his throat as the thought that it could be a corpse. He worked on keeping his mouth closed but the want to scream and vomit was very nearly overpowering.

Something hard hit his head and sent a shocking and immediate amount of pain throughout his body and a blinding light through his vision before blackness loomed before him. He felt himself glide as graceful as a fish through warm water into nothingness.

O0O0O0O0O0O

_Eru, Legolas! _Thought Aragorn with a worried frown. He heard the river rushing as he was led away and would have preferred at that point in his life to know nothing of the word drowning, nor the facts about flash floods that he knew, and thus salvage some hope for his lost friend.

The harsh fact was that he didn't believe that Legolas was coming back. He wasn't going to white wash it, though it would feel better if he did, it would do nothing to help the situation. Being optimistic was all well and good to a point, but totally ignoring reality was quite another. Ignoring reality could result in untimely deaths and tragic accidents, not to mention depression when one realized the truth of a matter was far from his calmest and most imaginable dreams.

But now was hardly the time to get all philosophical about life, he told himself as he felt the hard grip of a Haradrim warrior sent a numb feeling through his arm as it pinched a nerve. The wound in his chest was hardly ebbing in its pain and that was a bit disturbing but it was to be expected. It was getting much worse, actually and so was the weather.

Water was frothing about his ankles, with small sticks and other minute debris dancing on the surface. All the enemy warriors around him looked tense as they escorted the prisoners to a group of Oliphaunts reserved for taking them to Manwë or Namo knew where. They obviously knew the situation was graver than originally expected.

It was not a comforting thought at all to consider the fact that these warriors had lived here their whole lives. They knew everything about the land, from weather to landscape, had planned this attack most likely according to weather and climate and now were giving the expression that their plans were dashed.

Of course for the war, this was a good thing, but for the fortune of himself and the other misfortunate captives, this was hardly a nice position to be in at all. He had the ominous feeling that things were going to go from bad to worse and that he and his companions were out of the frying pan and into the fire.

His wound was throbbing and he could still feel the hot blood running down his tunic front and turning it crimson. With a stab of pain, he stumbled and nearly fell over. He cursed his growing weakness from the excessive loss of blood and stubbornly rose up again where he had tripped onto his knees.

As he raised his eyes to see what was taking place around him, he saw a guard with a hand on his sword hilt as he watched the ranger. Aragorn gave the man a hard and defiant glare and then began to walk forward. These men were obviously not afraid to cut down the dying and had no qualms about spilling further blood without death.

Why did he keep thinking in this frightening logic? Legolas was the one who always saw the dark side before he saw the brighter side. But Legolas wasn't here, he reminded himself sharply and he felt his heart slow in his own chest as he thought of his friend broken upon the rocks and…dead. He had to be drowned by now, the water was roaring and he could hear it as he was led away.

As they neared the Oliphaunts, there was a board, revealed in a flash of lightning, that carried prisoners and supplies up to be packed onto the creature's broad back. As Aragorn watched some men being shoved onto it to that the structure was overly packed, he felt slightly more sick than he had before, if indeed that was possible.

The guards must have experienced quite a show as the ranger's face changed from white to ashen gray to a sickly green and then to a white tone again all in about ten seconds. Aragorn was watching the water rise deviously about his ankles and observing the strong undertow when he heard a scream that sounded for the entire world like a wild cat in its death throes. '

Looking up once more he saw a shadow fall from the board and crash to the ground below and as he gazed further he saw the neck of the man was bent at a strange and unnatural angle. The Haradrim were none too gently or caring about the body and gripping it cast it aside without the slightest compunction.

When it was his turn along with other numerous prisoners, he was shoved forward and pressed in tight with his captured men. As they were hauled up one of them said"Captain, where is the Elf"

His tone sounded genuinely remorseful and anxious for the blonde prince. Aragorn sighed and said"he is lost."

The young man who had inquired looked at his companions and then at his feet in shame. Drawing a deep and broken breath, the man said"I am sorry to have lost him." The soldier watched as flashes of pain, memory, sorrow and wonder danced across Aragorn's face all at once. It was truly a sad scene that would have touched the hardest soul.

"So am I" said Aragorn softly and he looked away further South, to where the lightning was flickering across the sky. The lightning had claimed his friend's life, and yet it was so beautiful and fascinating.

A soft voice to his right asked"Captain Thorongil, Prince Legolas was killed quickly, right" Aragorn turned to look at the young man who was about eighteen and a smile faintly formed on his face as he realized what the young man was trying to say him.

"I like to think so, Sirith"answered the young Dúnadan thoughtfully as he listened to the thunder rumbling in the distance as the storm moved away to trouble other places. But he knew that wasn't true…Legolas had drowned…suffocated…the most lengthy death and most frightening that he could think of.

Sirith had been one of the men that had taken the time to talk with Legolas like he as one of them and not some stranger who had no feelings. Legolas and Sirith had gotten along rather well and Aragorn had the feeling that Legolas felt child-like again when he was around the boy. He knew Legolas would be grieved to know of Sirith's capture.

Aragorn saw Legolas again, his body lying on the jagged rocks, twisted and looking broken. He could not imagine looking up through the rushing water pressing you down and seeing the sky in all its majesty above as you died…

The boy asked"Captain, where did he go…when he died" He hoped it was someplace good. He could not see Legolas going to a horrible place when he had so much faith and always seemed so kind and serene.

"He went to the Halls of Waiting to be with his grandfather and his mother" Aragorn answered as he watched the boy's face convey both pain and relief. Aragorn felt like he was going to cry buckets in about a minute. He had not thought of this sort of emotional stuff before and now that young Sirith was bringing them up, they hurt.

Sirith looked at Aragorn's shoulder and he grimaced"you are wounded, sir."

Aragorn nearly snickered at the boy's naiveté but the pain was a bit too real for that and said gently"I am. But I will be all right. Rest assured." It was a lie, but it obviously a whole lot better than the truth right now. He knew how Legolas had felt when he had been younger and the Elf had received a cut. The ranger had told him and Legolas looked at him with one raised brow in a sort of laughing pose and gave him a sarcastic no-do-you-really-think-so look.

Sirith asked one final question before they were at the top of the beast and ready to be secured, to be transported away. "Are you sure, sir"

"You have been following Prince Legolas far too much for your own good" teased the ranger. Sirith looked crestfallen and Aragorn bit his lip to not smile despite the dark situation. Then he remembered Legolas was no longer around to mother him and he no longer had to bit his lip to keep back a smile, he had to bite his lip to keep from crying. The sudden change in emotion was so fast, it would put an Elf's work with a bow to shame.

"I am sorry, Captain, but he told me to look after you if anything should happen to him, a while back" confessed the young mortal with a tear springing into his eye.

Aragorn turned a pair of dead serious grey eyes upon the younger human and asked in a flat tone"when did he tell you that"

"After he woke up from a dream, sir"replied the soldier swiftly, trying to please his captain and friend. "He saw you sleeping, said something in Elvish and then turned bright eyes on me. It was during my watch" he added quickly as t the explanation on why he was even awake. "He said he didn't think he was going to be going home and made me promise to make you treat your wounds."

Aragorn felt a tear melt from his eye and slip down his face. He had wondered why Legolas had been so quiet lately and so quick to anger and frustration. He had known he was going to die. Anger burned in Aragorn's heart. Why had Legolas not told him? That stubborn secretive Elf! He fumed inwardly, tears streaming from his eyes.

He found it slightly amusing though that Legolas had known he, Estel, was going to get wounds. Aragorn guessed that he had received them often enough and it was pretty much predictable. But the ranger also found it highly annoying that Legolas would think someone younger was more capable of looking after him than he himself.

He placed a hand on his wound and it came off wet with blood. Aragorn really had no idea why he felt so surprised. Sirith asked in a soft whisper"does it hurt, sir"

"It does indeed, Sirith" Aragorn said in an absorbed voice that sounded very close to being completely lost. "But I don't mind." His eyes took on a lost look and he watched the world far below washing away, and the bodies floating by in the fast rising water. This pain was better than the pain of loss and so he would rather be distracted by it than by his grieving heart.

Sirith seemed to understand and said nothing, but looked at his boots with sorrow and despair.

**TBC…. Yes, next chapter technically starts the whole angst/torture stuff. Will you please review? Thanks. They were awesome. We have never seen so many reviews in our life. Please do it again. LOL they made posting real pleasurable for us. And if you haven't yet…you still can! **


	3. These Wounds We Bear

****

_**CHAPTER THREE**_

These Wounds We Bear 

_There is nothing that fear and hope does not permit men to do.  
-Marquis De Vauvenargues_

Legolas opened his eyes gradually and looked wearily about himself. Sandy grit half covered the blonde Elf and stuck in his hair that as plastered like a blonde paste to his neck and face. Brushing it out of the way to better his vision, the prince saw that it as dawn. A new morning and as he laid on the sandy side of the rushing river he realized it was also a new chance. He had to admit this was not entirely what he had expected. Well, waking with the sandy grit half covering his body was expected but other than that things seemed to be going strangely.

Sighing, he suddenly coughed and a considerable amount of water spilled from his mouth. Wheezing, the blonde Elf tried to sit up and found it made things worse. Fallen trees and large rocks swirled and merged into surreal images and he sank back onto his stomach setting his cheek against the cold gritty 'soil'. It felt like everything in his body was detached. He couldn't really explain the feeling and for a temporary moment his memory lapsed and he could not bring up the slightest recollection of why he was here, half-drowned and miserable.

Then all memory of the prior night flooded back and he moaned wearily at the sad and painful thoughts. But he still had no real idea of _where_ he was. That was more disturbing than it was annoying.

This was perfect! He thought satirically.

The sun was bright and he could feel its heat on his back. Rolling over onto his back, the nearly drowned being watched the clear sky curiously. Just last night it had been storming without mercy. Now there wasn't a cloud in the sky and the cruel heat fell to the earth's surface.

It was then that Legolas remembered _where_ he was and he moaned once more into the hot air of the morning. "Oh, Estel. I am sorry. Where are you" Closing his eyes against his pain as much as against the bright light of the sun, which he felt he didn't deserve to see, Legolas Greenleaf resisted the urge to cry in his misery.

He had to go and find Aragorn or die trying. He knew his father would rather he came home alive and if the older Elf was here right now Legolas knew he would be getting the lecture of a lifetime.

A brightly colored, exotic bird sat on a branch nearby and Legolas saw it moving its mouth in song, but he did not hear it. He then remembered the lightning and recalled bitterly that his hearing was lost. He couldn't even hear himself breathing.

Realizing he had a gift given to him by surviving, Legolas willed himself to get up and begin to walk. He was weaponless; everything lost in the torrential rainwater that had washed him away. It was a frightening thought. If he did catch up to the Haradrim, then he would be unable to fight and he was more or less sacrificing himself to let Aragorn know he wasn't alone. As he walked he began to wonder if the 'gift' was more of a curse. As far as he was concerned his life at the moment was wretched, nothing more.

As much as Legolas wanted to be there for Aragorn, he wasn't stupid. Doing that would be what an idiot would do. He would have to rely on secrecy and the power of his cloak to hide him. But that would never work, especially if he got into the heart of their kingdom or stronghold.

Walking further, Legolas knew he was at a severe disadvantage because of his hearing loss. He could be walking into an ambush and never know it, unless he saw it set up with his own eyes. The Elven prince had never before realized how much he had relied on his healing. Glaring at the sand as he walked, as if it was its fault, the immortal's blue eyes became dark, storming slits of self-bound anger.

Looking over to his left he saw something against the horizon. A long row of moving oliphaunts. They had huge structures on their backs, swaying gently with the great beasts' slow and large strides. Legolas looked closer, squinting against the sun and his eyes widened when he saw that these oliphaunts were loaded with prisoners.

Face contorted in fear, Legolas Greenleaf watched the slave drivers lash out at the bound men simply for fun. If Aragorn was with them, Legolas was horrified to even think about what they were doing to his friend. But he was also angry. If he had his bow he might have sneaked in closer and shot some of the Haradrim warriors from their mounts. That would certainly be satisfying.

If these were the same prisoners Legolas realized that he would have little chance of rescuing Aragorn until dark came. He would have to simply trail the caravan of warriors and captives.

Stumbling and nearly falling over with weariness and strangely enough, with dehydration, the prince placed his hands on his knees and bowed over for a second to catch his breath. This was not natural and it certainly was alarming that his energy and sense of balance should be deteriorating so fast. He suspected the balancing problems spawned from his ear troubles, so there was really no way around those. His head felt so detached from his body that he placed a hand on his throat to make sure that there wasn't an empty space between his shoulders and head. Nope, his neck was there and he was surprised it wasn't broken for how twisted it felt. What his father would say if he saw him in this state, Legolas had no idea and he really was beyond caring.

O0O0O0O

It was some time later, when darkness had crept over the land and the cold winds blew once more that the oliphaunts stopped and the prisoners were lowered down to be fed and get rest. But everyone knew that there was never really a 'rest' for the prisoners, just a slight reprieve from their absolute misery. The Haradrim warriors would still perform interrogations and such things at night when there was a proper place to bind a prisoner.

Legolas shifted his feet uneasily in the wet sand and mud as he waited for the exact and right moment to sneak forward a few meager feet closer to their vast camp. Many watch fires burned and that alone told Legolas they expected the men of Gondor to retaliate.

He was being watched for.

Weaponless, the Elf had no idea what he was going to do if he was surrounded. A shadow fell over the blonde being and the prince slowly turned around to see one of the large mounts grazing in the moonlight. But something else moved… another shadow. Even though Legolas could not hear him, he knew there was a man of Harad, in the briars, watching vigilantly over the pasturing oliphaunts.

He was going to have a hard time getting past the oliphaunt's gaze. They were not fond of Elves, remembering the dark days where Elves had been forced to kill them in battles. Legolas was surprised they could remember back that far, being only animals, but they did and he had long ago accepted it as being one of nature's oddities.

Finally, after what seemed a century, Legolas crept forward a few more yards. He was thus far not discovered, but it was only a matter of time before he was taken prisoner as well. Perhaps a wiser Elf might have gone back for help, but where would he go and who would he go to? There was no one else he could confide in. He could not hear, and he knew the harsh fact that he was as good as dead at the moment as it was. But he would rather be killed trying to protect his friend or save him than he would any other way.

Narrowing his eyes and furrowing his brows, the Elven prince flipped his hood over his head and pushed his face deeply into it, hoping to be less noticeable. Now that he was closer, he could see the faces of the men, Haradrim, cruel and many.

The sight of the tattooed and painted cutthroats was chilling, but the conditions of the Gondorian prisoners tore at his heart. They were bound extremely tightly and quite a fair share of them bore gruesome wounds that would in the end prove fatal. Remembering how Aragorn had a wound and realizing now that he saw his friend nowhere, the blonde being willed himself not to sigh in despair.

This had to be by far the hardest and most despairing situation he had found himself locked within for quite some time, well, he thought with an inward shake of the head, that was if you disregarded the Corsairs. But that hardly bore any remembrance and he gave a small frown as he further studied the camp about him.

There were many Harad warriors; more than he thought his father had Elven warriors. They must have gathered from every corner of the Southern country. The wind blew and Legolas held perfectly still hoping that the soft and nearly inaudible ruffles of his cloak didn't give his position away. After a few moments of nothing incidental occurring and thinking he was clear, Legolas wriggled forwards just a little in his crouched position. He was nearing the circle of firelight from one of the large watch fires and was about to stop when something slammed into him.

A look of surprise and anger crossed Legolas' fair face before he was smashed to the ground on his stomach and his chin brutally connected with the damp soil. Cursing his luck and being found and counting his blessings for not biting his own tongue off, the Elf looked around slightly bewildered. The blow had seemingly come out of nowhere and he rued the fact that if he had his hearing still he might have heard the attack coming. But as it was he did not.

He tried to roll over to see who his attacker was but whoever it was snarled his fingers in a good sized handful of golden-hair and slammed Legolas' forehead into the hard ground with violent force causing the Elf to cry out softly. Feeling blood running down his face from where his soft skin must have come in sharp contact with a rock, Legolas blinked stupidly and tried to roll over onto his back again.

He should have known that that was never going to be allowed to happen so when a strong hand twisted one of his arms abruptly if not angrily Legolas was hardly surprised. The way the arm was twisted created enough pain to convince him that the more he struggled the more pain he would find himself in. Some blood trickled into his eyes and burned them. Shaking his head to try and relieve the tickling and burning blood on his face, the prince dug his booted feet into the soft soil and tried to pry himself out of the grasp of his assailant.

It was not even meagerly affective and so he stopped and just rested his chin on the ground. It wasn't that he had given up, he just happened to know when it wasn't worth the trouble to fight because it was going to be fruitless in the end no matter how much pain you went through to get there.

Apparently satisfied that the Elf was no longer battling him, the attacker suddenly, in one swift and fluent move, flipped Legolas onto his back. The Elf stared up into the face of a Harad warrior, bright red with war paint. He scowled down at the Elf and placed a knee on Legolas' sternum, pressing it in so that it would be harmful to struggle anymore if he chose to apply any more pressure. Legolas felt the wind being slowly but most assuredly pressed from his lungs and he wheezed.

Glaring up at the man pinning him to the earth, Legolas let his eyes speak volumes about his contempt and displeasure. Nearly curling his upper lip in disdain, the Elf wondered absentmindedly what this man might look like with an arrow in his forehead. With an inward laugh Legolas decided that it would be an improvement and only felt unsatisfied that he was not able to place on there.

The man placed his spear point against the blonde prince's throat and said slowly"Elf, you will rise without any tricks. We know your kind and won't tolerate an escape attempt." Legolas didn't hear the harsh voice, but the man was speaking slow enough he could read the lips and knew roughly what was being said.

Legolas asked bitterly but with hardly any breath left to give a lethal tone"do I look stupid to you" The man had a spear to his throat, like he was going to try some sudden move to escape! That would be insanity.

Laughing, the man said"not exactly. But what you were trying to do was a fool's errand."

"What do you have here, Sarchel" asked a harsh voice, full of scorn and contempt for the other warrior, whom he really didn't like.

The man called Sarchel dug his knee further into Legolas' breast bone causing the Elf to stifle a cry and try to squirm clear of the dull pain. Something that he found highly degrading, having to squirm. "An Elf, Captain Darcíl. He was sneaking about and up to no good I warrant."

"I bet he was up to plenty of good" said the other"good thing you caught him" The Captain sneered down at the pinned Elf with scorn in his eyes. "Prince Dorrag will be very much pleased."

Legolas glared up at this new human with utter loathing and the man just smiled. That was something that got on the blonde prince's nerves, but not nearly as much as being unable to hear what was being said of him.

As he gazed up at Darcíl, he noticed that this man had many strange designs tattooed all over his chest and face. A snake wound about the man's neck, done in a bright blue color with a purple tint to outline the scales. Its eyes were made in red and long fangs protruded from its mouth in s snarl.

Legolas noticed also, that the man carried himself with much assured posture. He seemed to know exactly how much power he had and how much he could get away with. He also knew that those beneath him could be manipulated. His eyes spoke about his temper and sly nature.

Seeing Legolas looking at him he looked at the Elf and smiled brightly"welcome to the army of the Haradrim, Elf." Then, shifting his hard gaze at Sarchel he spat"have you searched him for weapons or valuable things, like maps"

The other man shook his head and said"all my strength has been at use keeping him in place." He gave the captive prince a dig with his spear point.

Darcíl rolled his eyes as though he thought Sarchel was a complete idiot, (which wasn't far from his conclusions on the other man) and drawing out his scimitar, he touched the cold hard tip to Legolas' neck and pressed. "Now search him"

Legolas felt alarm rising in his throat as he felt the buttons to his suede tunic being undone and he jerked only to feel the prick of the blade against his neck. Struggling to control his breathing, the Elf tried not to let his fear slip into his gaze. Instead he allowed all the anger he felt and what extra he could gather to give expression to his façade.

Finding no weapons hidden beneath is tunic, the man saw the belt Legolas used to hold his knives at times and daggers. Unbuckling it, he searched the sheathes for their weapons and found them not. They had all been washed away in the flood.

Getting frustrated and wanting to please Darcíl, the man moved down to Legolas' leather boots and slipped those off, checking the insides for maps or boot daggers. When he found nothing he reached his hand up and grabbed Legolas' chin. Then drawing up close to the Elven face of his captive he asked hoarsely"where are your weapons"

Legolas could not hear the question and so he could not answer, he simply tried to twist away from the other's grip. Luckily for him Darcíl stepped in and said"we will take him to Prince Dorrag. If he is weaponless then he is harmless enough and our prince can do the interrogations himself."

Sarchel snorted"I don't trust him as far as I can shoot him." He backed away from the blonde Elf and Legolas glared up at the men darkly. He was more than angry at his treatment, though he couldn't really blame them. He and his Elves would probably do the same thing to one of them if they caught him. It was something to be expected.

Captain Darcíl shifted his scimitar and then told Sarchel"run and tell the prince we bring what he has been seeking." Glaring down at Legolas, he snapped"now put your boots on" Legolas didn't hear what the man said but as soon as the spear was removed from his throat and he was allowed to rise the Elf slipped his suede green boots back on for the sheer fact that they were far more comfortable than going barefooted on this terrain. He felt uncomfortable under the scrutinizing eyes of the Haradrim captain. They gave him an eerie feeling of vulnerability.

The tickle of the scimitar never left his back as he was forced to stand with his hands in the air. One arm was twisted behind his back and then the other and Legolas winced in pain as much as with contempt as he felt cords being tied tightly around his wrists.

Shoving Legolas forward he commanded"walk and no tricks Elf. We have sentinels all about and none are afraid to place a bolt in you" he added as a reminder that Legolas was the captive and was not above the threat of death.

O0O0O0O

Aragorn gazed angrily at the man to his left. "That Elf betrayed you and now we are being sent to our deaths. If I were you and I saw him again, I would slit his filthy little throat." The man spat. "So much for Elven loyalty."

"Damn it" argued Aragorn sternly. "He didn't do it! I saw him fall! He was killed, same as our comrades." His wound was hurting badly and he was hardly in the mood to deal with the stupidity and stubbornness of some of the men.

Young Sirith sat to his right and his eyes were on his boots. He missed Legolas, who had befriended him even though he was the outcast. He knew Legolas was loyal at heart and would never willingly let himself or Thorongil get hurt.

The man to Aragorn's left snarled"you just can't admit that even your friend betrayed you, can you Captain Thorongil" The ranger watched as the other's face turned into a bitter scowl. "He even betrayed young Sirith who trailed him around like a lost puppy. He has no heart, or if he has he can't find it."

"Just leave Legolas out of this" snapped Aragorn fiercely. "I am still your superior officer and I don't want to hear anymore, am I understood" A stab of vehement pain ran through Aragorn's wound and scored his chest. Crumpling his face in pain, the man said testily"I don't want to talk about it"

Sirith looked at his captain and he felt ill.

Aragorn knew now all the men would believe that he thought Legolas was a traitor, but he couldn't help that. He as greatly disturbed that a great deal of evidence was against Legolas. But he could never believe that his friend had sold him out.

He knew that if Legolas were taken captive and threatened with anything horrible under the sun; the greatest torment an Elf could endure, he would suffer it to spare his friends.

Sirith suddenly shook Aragorn gently with his bound hands and said"Captain Thorongil, sir, they bring forth a new prisoner"

Aragorn opened his eyes with a jolt, as though _he _had been struck by lightning. He looked and saw Legolas walking stiffly towards the tent where he knew the Prince of the Haradrim was staying. There were harsh and quick words traded with the guards at the tent flap and then Legolas was shoved in.

Legolas stared with contempt at the man before him. He was responsible for all the death and destruction he had seen, all the hurt and turmoil. Anger seethed in Legolas heart and he narrowed his eyes at the Haradrim royalty before him. Seeing the expectant facial expression of the Haradrim lord, Legolas squared his shoulder in a way that resembled his father's form of carriage and observed with a sneer of loathing"You look disappointed. Too bad for you that I will bend my knee to no one, save my king and those I deem worthy of respect."

A sharp blow to his back with a spear shaft and Legolas found himself on his knees before the man with his head bowed in pain despite his recent words. This was a position -he decided quickly- that he didn't like very much. His blonde hair had slid to cover the slight pain on his face. He was glad his face was covered, because on top of being ready to go rabid with anger, he was humiliated. The cold humiliation only served to make his livid temper rise in a way that would make any sane person want to flee in terror or at the least feel very uncomfortable as long as Legolas still possessed his crystalline and icy blue eyes.

Prince Dorrag stood up and walked around too stand before Legolas. "You _will_ bow on your knees before Prince Dorrag, Elf" demanded Sarchel with a sneer that equally matched Legolas' for malice and spite and he nodded to his lord as Legolas stayed knelt on the ground. Legolas felt this was kind of ironic considering he was a prince himself.

"You may be dismissed Sarchel. Captain Darcíl, stay if you will" stated the Haradrim prince as he leaned back against a large chair. The Haradrim captain nodded obediently and stepped back into the shadows, watching his liege from the darkness.

A small frown garnished his face as he watched Dorrag stare down the Elf he and Sarchel had brought. Sarchel was a stupid soldier, thought Darcíl dryly. He could follow orders, but really he was worthless when it came to plans and thinking ahead. Lazily, the captain looked at the lantern the provided some light in the tent, casting off an orange glow. He imagined that it was most likely Sarchel would have slain the Elf without thinking twice and regretted it later.

The prince of the Haradrim brushed the long blonde hair away form the captive's face with his large hand. Legolas glared up with venomous eyes that were still an understatement concerning his frame of mind.

Dorrag smirked calmly as he sank his muscular frame slowly into the comfort of the large chair. Fingering his overly large signet ring thoughtfully the man said"do you know why you were not killed"

Legolas could not hear the question except for a strange muffle sound. Well -he thought grimly- some of the hearing as returning anyway. Shifting his weight he raised his chin proudly and his eyes connected with his subjugator's in a clash of wills.

Dorrag continued scornfully"well, if I told you then it wouldn't be a surprise. " Turning over his plans once more in his head, he smiled at the thoughts that seemed so perfect. But even the most perfect plans could go astray. That is why he could suffer no errors, everything must be done delicately and flawlessly.

Of course with his idiot men, he highly doubted that was going to happen. His thought filled purely with scorn as he thought what morons he governed. Well, Captain Darcíl was not all that much of an idiot. He could lead men well, and not only that, conceived the mortal prince, he was excellent with creating splendid little plans that could escalate to huge disasters for the enemy.

He had wanted to capture a Firstborn since his men first shot one that for some unknown reason had been traveling south. He knew that they were in alliance with the men of Gondor. That was the entire problem. If the Elves were quiet like they used to be and continued to stay hidden in their little trees that would be fine, Sauron the Great would deal with them later. However they were coming abroad.

He had spies in many at least three out of Four Corners of the world. A disturbing message had come from the North saying that the Elves of the hidden fortress of Rivendell were with the Rangers, dying beside them and aiding them. Giving them Lembas bread and other strange attire. They were lending them their keen sight and hearing.

He had heard of two identical dark-haired Elves that were always with the rangers and abroad in Rohan, helping to keep Sauron at bay. They were supposedly the sons of Elrond but he had not the time or resources to capture them now.

The Haradrim could not afford these Firstborn to make a treaty with the Gondorians again and go to war. Their hearing and eyesight were too sharp and found the snipers Haradrim had set in trees. They discovered ambushes and found ways around them and they never tired. He also knew that they had the annoying ability to slay the oliphaunts without such much as getting their hair out of place.

He knew it was highly unlikely that the Gondorians were going to stand by and let these men he had taken remain prisoners. He also tossed over the idea in his dark mind that perhaps they would come for the Elf as well. Men who had relationships with Elves seldom broke them off unless they were forced to, unless they had a dangerous and terrifying reason to.

But Elves were even more incredulous of men, far more incredulous.

This Elf he now had in his clutches seemed to be the key to breaking the allegiance between Elves and men. But these things must be done delicately to get the proper feelings of mistrust between the races and feelings of anger…disdain.

Making an example of this Elf would be something to definitely consider, but first he had to know his name and where he came from. How else could he send a message to his King telling the Elven ruler that one of his warriors was in his clutches about to be cruelly executed?

Conceivably the young captive ranger could be the key to this bound immortal's undoing and the undoing of an alliance made long ago. Not only that, it had been long since they had held a proper Elf-friend sacrifice. One must break first, however, but where they were heading that was not going to be difficult. As a matter of fact, it would hardly be an obstacle. He had captured and broken many slaves in his time of forty years and these would be no different.

Legolas finally could not bear this man's unwavering and proud eyes staring at him as he was forced to kneel and he asked sourly"why was I brought here" His voice sounded so muffled in his own ears he could hardly believe it was his.

"So you have a voice" asked the Haradrim Prince with a mocking tone of shock. "You have been being so quiet, are you frightened?"

Legolas had been watching the man's mouth carefully and his returning hearing, though muffled allowed him discern close enough to what the man had asked. "Not of you" answered the Elf quietly but hard and in insurgence. "I have met beings that merit dread and I regret to inform you that you are not among them." His tone had changed swiftly to a sardonic and scornful utterance.

The man raised his brows and then said"I honestly didn't think you were. You carry yourself in a high manner." He was wondering if this was a mere warrior that he had captured or some sort of Elven lord. Sighing, Dorrag called Captain Darcíl forward and inquired "did you find anything on him when he was taken"

"Nothing, my lord. He appears to be weaponless" answered Darcíl forwardly. He watched as Legolas sighed with annoyance and all but rolled his eyes.

If they were going to kill him or torture him, what ever they had in mind, he wished that they would hurry up and get started. He hated this waiting for something that he knew was going to be a nightmare. What made it worse were the scorn and the lustful happiness he saw in all the men's faces. Well, the human that was behind him he knew was different.

He just looked hard, as though carved in stone. His dark eyes were alert and honest. He had nothing to hide and yet he was secretive.

"Captain, did you find out his name or where he is from" asked Dorrag with aggravation. He hated having to pull information from anybody. It was a tragic waste of time.

Darcíl frowned and said"We thought it would be best for you to do the interrogating since you know the exact information you wish to obtain and we didn't know if you wanted him harmed…"

"You mean _you _thought it was best, Captain Darcíl." Dorrag smiled. "I know you. You have not served me well for many years for me to blow you off." He frowned. "However, I think you have the better affect on prisoners, they seem to melt…"

A disdainful scowl came across Darcíl's face and he replied. "I have no experience with Elves. I have heard they are harder to…"

"They are, I am certain. But the only requirement that I leave you with is that he must be able to stand on a gallows when you are through with him."

Darcíl wished he was anywhere but here and he sighed inwardly. He didn't enjoy torturing prisoners. He did it because it was his lord's will -no other reason. If it were up to him, he would have left this place long ago and been a simple woodsman.

"What would you have me do with him now" inquired Darcíl quietly, dark eyes flickering.

Dorrag thought for a moment and he looked at Legolas degenerately. They had no time for drawn out 'sessions' now. He wanted the ranger to be with the Elf during the interrogation. If one didn't break under physical pain, the emotional pain would be enough. "You may place him with that ranger. But Captain, if he gets free your _family_ will answer for you."

Darcíl nodded blankly and gripping Legolas by the upper arms he tugged the Elf to his feet. The Elven prince gave Dorrag a defiant and scathing glare before being dragged out.

Once they were clear of the tent Darcíl grabbed Legolas and slammed his back against a tree, pressing his arm threateningly across the throat of the Elven prince. He put his weight into Legolas' neck, causing the Elf to widen his eyes as he stared at the man. "Elf, let me make this as plain as I can." He drew a deep breath and then snarled"if you escape or cause a disturbance, any tricks from you…I will thrash you within an inch of your life." He was about to let Legolas away from the tree and guide him to where he was to spend the rest of the night when he halted.

"If you cause my family to suffer, I promise you, I will find you and I will capture you alive and then I will make you wish you were dead before strangling with my bare hands whatever is left." Darcíl then released his choking grip from the prince's neck and snapped"come on."

Legolas had not heard even half of all that was said, but he guessed from the dangerous light in the man's eyes and the way he was nearly strangled that he had just been threatened. He didn't know with what or for what reason, but he knew that he had better be careful.

Legolas stumbled after Darcíl's quick pace much to his utter irritation and before long, after being weaved through numerous and various tents and campfires, he found himself standing before the Gondorian prisoners. Their looks were so dark and menacing that he nearly took a step back, aghast. He knew they had hated him or at the least mistrusted him, but what he saw now was pure malice.

Eru! He was in bonds too! What more did they want? Probably him lynched, but that was too bad, at least so far. But from what he had managed to make out with his dulled hearing was that they were planning to execute him at some point. However he wasn't exactly certain as to their plans, not enough for them to make a bit of sense.

He searched the men he had earlier called his comrades for a single friendly face, but to his dismay he found none. Darcíl stopped, watching the way the Elf looked hurt slightly and lost…alone. He smiled hollowly and said"being ridiculed by your own, Elf? What was it that you did to make them hate you so" he scoffed with a disdainful jeer.

Legolas didn't reply. First of all he could barely hear, secondly, he was didn't care much about the scornful little comment and felt that it was hardly worth the breath to answer. But his heart skipped a beat when he could not find the familiar and comforting face of his best friend. Had he been killed or died? Or were they…torturing him? Legolas winced at the thought, not very happy about the reminder that he was likely to face that himself.

Darcíl shoved him and said"do not worry, you aren't staying with them anyway. We can't afford to lose _you."_ Smacking the Elf on the back of his head, he succeeded in increasing the potency of the headache Legolas already considered nearly blinding thanks to Sarchel slamming his head into the ground and nearly fracturing his skull.

He at least knew one thing. His father was correct when he said he was thick headed. Stumbling forward again, Legolas watched the faces of the men as he passed. They were cold and hard now, anger burned in their eyes. And as much as Legolas liked to think it didn't hurt, it did…a lot.

Darcíl suddenly kicked the back of Legolas' knees and caused him to fall forward. Crumpling to the ground, the Elf grit his teeth and resisted the urge to wince as his knee scraped the rough dirt. Water seeped through the knees on his leggings, a result of the previous torrential rains that the Elf found eminently uncomfortably. He felt the captain's strong hands on his shoulders, pressing to ensure that Legolas remained where he had fallen. He then gripped Legolas' suede tunic collar and flipped the Elf backwards so he was lying on his back. A slight bit of fear sparked forth but he was quickly replaced with sorrow.

Legolas looked about him and at first was dismayed, and then he heard a soft murmur that sounded very familiar. "Captain, its Le-" Aragorn stifled Sirith's mouth.

Muttering under his breath, the ranger growled"we will be lucky if no one heard that."

He knew that chances were Legolas' real name must never be given. However, he at least knew that Legolas was here with him. He didn't know why he found comfort in his friend being with him at this time, for it meant that Legolas was going to go through the same torment, but perhaps that was the answer. It was a twisted thought in a way, but in a way it was welcomed too. They could draw strength from each other's pain and hope.

Darcíl took some rope and placed it about Legolas ankles, drawing it painfully tight and Legolas felt the compassing of his blood to his feet severed as though they had been cut off. The knot was made inescapably tight so the only way to undo it was to cut it.

Legolas grimaced and then he felt the captain's foot on his back and he held still for a moment, wondering what was going to happen next. The Haradrim man hissed venomously"remember my promise." Legolas attempted to jerked away and without warning the foot was gone.

He found himself alone with Sirith and Aragorn. The other prisoners had not seen it fit to be around the Elf, whom they loathed. Legolas wriggled over to where Aragorn was before sitting up and he said in a serious tone"let me see your wound."

The ranger shook his head"it is fine." What was Legolas going to do anyway? He was bound harshly hand and foot.

"Which definition of 'fine' are you using? May I hear it in a sentence" asked the Elf bitterly, as he looked Aragorn in the eyes with his darkened blue ones. He hadn't even heard what Aragorn had just said, but he knew that the ranger had claimed to have a perfectly fine wound. It was always the same and he didn't have to hear it, he knew it.

It was then that Legolas knew it was stupid to ask to hear it in a sentence and he slapped himself inside. Without his hearing he was missing a lot more than he ever thought he could. You could not possibly know what the full disadvantages of losing your hearing were until it was lost.

He suddenly felt Aragorn's bound hands on his shoulder and they turned him to look into the concerned silver eyes that looked Elven. Though this was not surprising considering that he was raised in a home of Elves. He saw Aragorn's mouth speak his name in a low murmur so no one else could hear it.

When Legolas didn't respond Aragorn felt his anxiety rise and he asked"Legolas? Whatever is the matter other than being bound like a convict" Legolas looked away and Aragorn was not going to have his friend hiding anything from him. Bracketing Legolas' pale face with his bound hands he rotated the Elf's head to face him. "Legolas"

Legolas knew Aragorn was saying his name. But he could not hear it and that hurt…a lot. His eyes looked at the damp ground and then at a trampled plant. He muttered quietly so Aragorn could barely hear"its not important. I am hale, really."

"But you're not" pointed out Aragorn. "And I know you well enough to know that whatever is on your mind right now is extremely troubling to you." This persistence on Aragorn's part would normally be annoying. Legolas wished to the powers at be that it was, he missed his friend's lectures. He missed the persistence that was like a constant poke in the chest telling him he was wrong.

Legolas forced a false smile and he tried to place a laugh in his voice"no. I am just weary from trying to catch up with you." Legolas knew it would sound a whole lot more authentic if he could actually hear himself and that in itself was a little humiliating. He scrutinized the frowning face of his friend for any sign that his devious attempt at lying had been well received.

If a scowl and narrowed eyes were anything like happiness and belief then he would have succeeded. However that was not the case and he winced as he realized that Aragorn knew he was in horrible discomfort.

The young Dúnadan spoke softly and Legolas knew that much from the slow way his friend's lips moved. "Legolas, I will help you, but you have to tell me." Legolas pulled his face free of Aragorn's now trembling hands.

Aragorn grabbed Legolas' face again and said firmly"Would you just look me in the eye" Legolas sighed and when he tried to pull free again Aragorn held him tightly. "I just want you to know you aren't alone. You have friends. I know you are no traitor."

The knowledge that his friend was speaking words of comfort and he was unable to hear them stung Legolas' weakening heart as affectivity as any venomous wasp might. He sighed before he shivered violently, his whole frame shaking. Sobs longed to come forth as he finally realized with bitter clarity that he was frightened without his hearing.

Choking back the tears and creating a festering lump in his throat Legolas murmured in a low and unstable voice"I can't hear…"

"Legolas…"said Aragorn in a soft and friendly voice that offered his condolences. He believed his friend. This wasn't a joke. The image of the lightning nearly turning Legolas into a charred Elf raced through his mind. It had blown Legolas' acute hearing, Aragorn realized as his heart dropped right down to his boots with a sickening draining sensation that made his stomach sick.

Scooting closer to his friend he let his actions speak louder than his words. There was not much he could do here, especially with his hands bound as they were. Gently he pressed Legolas' head down into his lap, so that one ear, his left, was facing up. He was surprised and greatly alarmed at the lack of resistance that the stubborn prince displayed.

Gingerly in the fear of causing acute pain he shifted the blonde hair away form the slender and pointed ear. Legolas winced at the touch, anticipating the pain. But none came and Aragorn's hands were very gentle. He carefully inspected the ear and found swelling. Legolas' eardrum had most likely only suffered temporary damage, but until the swelling went down he was liable not to hear a thing for days.

Legolas felt his friend's circumspection and calming fingers massaging his ear, trying to help with the loss he knew Legolas was feeling. Closing his eyes, Legolas permitted the gentle and caring feeling of his friend's love and fellowship lull him to sleep though he really didn't feel like sleeping at all.

Aragorn listened to his friend's soft and deep breathing as he worked the ear with care not to cause anymore discomfort. He smiled and Sirith came up by him, staring at Legolas carefree face.

"Will he be well, Captain" asked the young boy as he looked at the ear that was being rubbed cautiously and vigilantly.

"He would be if he was anywhere but here" answered the ranger darkly as he stared into the night for a moment. He looked back down at Legolas and saw a dark spot on the Elf's forehead, a growing bruise flecked with dried blood.

In the light of the watch fire he stopped working the ear and his fingers carefully touched the purple blotch that was set against the otherwise pale features. Legolas jerked a little and then he stopped and opened his eyes with a start. They swirled upward and he looked into Aragorn 's comforting face.

Legolas frowned and as Aragorn placed a finger to his lips"Thorongil, you shouldn't be doing this, it is I who should be seeing to you." He began to get up and Aragorn pushed him down and scowled him benevolently.

His own deep wound was throbbing with every slow and minute beat of his laboring heart. It sent thrills of prickly and concentrated pain through every fiber of his awareness. He wished his brothers were here or someone with a knowledge in healing. For a brief and actually exalted moment he felt a stab of longing for home, his brothers, his room with its warmth and comforting blankets and crackling fireplace. Above all, he longed for his Ada to wrap his arms around him and reassure him about how much he loved him and that everything was going to turnout well in the end.

It was a lonesome thought that he had not seen the old Elf in near four years since he and Legolas had been down in the South fighting; seeing and spilling so much crimson blood. They were staining their clothes with their own blood and the blood of their enemies. Now it seemed like all their labors were at an end and they would die far away from home and be missed, their fathers never knowing what became of them.

Legolas looked up at Aragorn, watching the pain on his friend's face and the moisture coming into the silver eyes, giving them a strange and misty effect, like a heavy fog over a cool and beautiful stream with dew drops hanging in the air. Suddenly the Elf realized that his vision had blurred and he felt a burning in his own two eyes.

Aragorn looked down; realizing that Legolas had seen his pain and he smiled even as the tears he felt threatened to spill. Shifting some of the blonde Elf's long hair away from his face, he pressed the head back down into his lap. "You just get some rest, Legolas." His voice was soft. Aragorn was feeling so far away and surprisingly the agony shooting through his shoulder and chest was welcomed.

He had only one wonderful thing to be extremely grateful and glad for: Legolas, who was thought to be dead, was alive.

**TBC… Now are you all happy? Legolas and Aragorn are reunited! They are both captured! **


	4. Only the Beginning

_**CHAPTER FOUR**_

Only the Beginning 

Sitting upon the broad shoulders of the large oliphaunt with captain Darcíl to his left, holding the end of the rope halter that laced tightly around his neck, with large knots that when twisted just right, bit and pinched the flesh in an annoyingly painful way, Legolas was careful about breathing.

He was quickly finding out that if he stepped out of line just a little bit the effects could be far less than lovely and as a matter of fact they could be downright painful. One of the knots, two actually, must have been on either side of a nerve in his neck and when twisted, they sent a jolt up his face that actually burned.

He also noticed Darcíl had no qualms about letting the captive Elf know in no uncertain terms exactly whose hands he had fallen into and what rules he was expected to submit to. The Haradrim captain nudged the bound Elf with his shoulder and hissed, "we approach our destination and your waking nightmare."

Legolas shivered as he achieved the ability to discern what was said. Aragorn's ear massage had helped some and now everything said was just fuzzy but audible. If Aragorn was beside him he might not be feeling so down hearted and lost. But his friend was on another oliphaunt before him, sitting with Prince Dorrag and being guarded ceaselessly by Sarchel and a few more men.

Darcíl watched as Legolas sat up a little straighter and shifted uneasily. Smiling he hissed in the Elf's pointed ear, "isn't it lovely?"

Fences and walls of stone loomed ahead, bleak, and already looking painful. The sun beat down on them mercilessly, making them hot and miserable. Squinting his eyes into slits of bright blue, Legolas could see the walls of a castle or palace, but they were not finished and as he looked closer, he saw with blurred clarity the numerous slaves that were hauling stone with the heat of the sun battering them down.

Finally he found his tongue and muttered incisively, "charming." The blonde Elf now felt a dark foreboding that was hardly suppressible spiking up in a way that made him sick. Actually, he had been feeling sick the entire trip. Now he was feeling _really_ sick.

Darcíl smiled and said slowly as though he relished what he was saying, "glad you like it." He reached over and patted Legolas' back in a mocking way that made the Elf twist away and glare daggers at him in annoyance.

"Do not touch me," he said in a flat and emotionless tone that was strangely lethal. His eyes turned from a dreading look to a hard one of ice and steel. As the wind pulled his hair aside, Darcíl stared leeringly at the Elf and then shook his head with a smirk.

This blonde being was so naive about how things worked. This Elf was a _slave_, a _captured_ prize. He was vanquished, at their mercy. What part of defeat did that egotistical Elf not grasp? He would learn in due time though, however Darcíl did not want to think about that. Tormenting captives was not his favorite thing to do. It still angered and pestered his normally quiet or suppressed conscience.

Legolas blinked as they turned into the sun to follow the road into the Haradrim death camp, or so Legolas perceived it to be. What else would they be sent to with such vast fences of bladed tops where climbing them would rip an unfortunate escapee to ribbons?

Aragorn said for what had to be the fifth time since he had started talking with the Haradrim prince, "I will not tell you anything my friend has not already agreed to talk about." His tone was flat and slightly dangerous in his mounting anger.

He remembered something that Erestor had once told him about negotiations. _If you give in, even the minutest bit, you will find yourself losing more and more ground. _He was not even going to give them Legolas' name or anything concerning the Elven prince. Something deep inside his heart warned him telling them even where Legolas came from was potentially fatal.

"You know what fate you bring upon your friend and yourself?" asked the Haradrim ruler with a raised eyebrow as he stared at the ranger, who was looking stiff from his wound. "If you are more reasonable, I will make sure his neck breaks when he falls and he doesn't have to endure the…suffocation process." A cold smile, as brittle and fell as a December dawn crossed his face.

Aragorn instantly growled thickly, "what do you have planned for him?" The man's eyes turned into dark grey orbs or turmoil and his brows were drawn together. A slight touch of grey paled his skin as he realized what this man was saying and the full impact of the offer hit him. And the ranger had distinct feeling that the grey touch was turning a sickly green as his stomach began to churn uneasily.

Dorrag slowly eased himself back in his large throne like chair uniquely strapped upon the oliphaunt's back with a shade providing canopy over it. He took off his large ring and rolled it around in his fingers leisurely and then looked at Aragorn. "We cannot afford an alliance of Elves and Men to form against us."

A knot, hard and cold formed in Aragorn's stomach as he listened to the words of the plan made for his friend and most likely himself. His blood seemed to lose its warmth and he shivered without even thinking about it.

"This Elf-spy of yours was not one we honestly expected to catch. As it turned out all we needed was you for bait. He walked right into the camp searching for you," the Prince of Harad watched Aragorn's face calculatingly for guilt and sorrow. "But now that we have him I have come to the conclusion that he will make an impressive little example of what happens when Elves mettle in the affairs of men…he and any envoy sent for negotiations of his release."

Aragorn did his best to keep a stony face. Feeling like he had lost his voice completely the ranger affirmed, "you mean to put him to death…" The man worked his jaw and glared at the Haradrim prince in disgust.

"Indeed, but I can't do it properly until I know his name and where his home is. I am sure his lord would mourn to know a fine warrior of his has been captured and is about to executed along with several of his Elven emissaries that I am sure he will send for negotiations of his release." Dorrag twirled his ring before he set it on is finger and he studied with scrutinizing eyes the face of the captive ranger before him.

If he was looking for weakness he was sorely disappointed. If anything the man's face hardened and though it had become more grave it seemed stronger. "And if I am not told who he is willingly…"

"You will persuade us to tell you," finished Aragorn resentfully, "I know." His grey eyes seemed to dull and his wound's throbbing increased.

"Not I," the tattooed man replied thoughtfully. "Captain Darcíl will. But here I give you one more chance to give me the information I seek willingly." Narrowing his eyes into dark and sinister slits of malice, greed, and power hungriness, the man stared down the ranger. But Aragorn's will was disturbingly more stubborn than he had given it credit for and the man withstood his piercing gaze while delivering one of his own.

"You will pay in this world and/or the next for every scream, or moan you tear from his throat," promised Aragorn rigidly. He whispered ominously, "every drop of blood you draw from his body." The man's eyes held Dorrag's for a minute that seemed an eternity. "Do I make myself clear?"

"Crystalline." His captor's voice was filled with mockery and scorn. "But you and that Elf won't live to see it." He looked back to the oliphaunt behind them that held Legolas and Captain Darcíl along with other warriors, for he had not allowed Legolas to be placed with the other prisoners for fear of a little mutiny or murder.

"Perhaps not, but we will die knowing justice will eventually be dealt out," retorted the dark-haired ranger confidently and soberly. "So let your men do their Orc-work and may it be their worst."

"You know not what you willingly walk into, ranger," admonished Dorrag with disbelief that this man had the strength to not break down under these threats. It angered him that he was being told to prove himself. The threats were not enough. "You know not what you drag your friend into," he added with a bitter snarl.

"Oh, but I do," answered Aragorn calmly. "And I know I speak for both of us." His voice went hard and he clenched his jaw.

"One of you will break," promised the Haradrim prince. "You have my word." He looked to his palace that was being built for his glory. The sun brightly reflected off the cold marble of the quarries and the new walls still being hauled into place.

As Aragorn looked morosely at the looming palace that was under careful construction he saw the proud and hard looks in the man's black glittering eyes as he sat enthroned above him. The ranger quickly sent a silent and swift prayer to Illuvatar pleading for strength.

He shifted his gaze to his annoyingly calm captor. "Your word? Of what sort of worth is that I wonder?" he asked mockingly as he pretended to weigh the truth of the Haradrim prince's words mentally.

"It is worth more than you think. I can assure you ranger."

O0O0O0O

It was some time later when Prince Dorrag sat upon his throne. With his father's absence abroad on the battlefields, he was in full power. Everybody answered to him and he to nobody. It was a rather great feeling now that he thought of it. He could certainly get used to it, which was a good thing because he planned to.

Smiling he called Captain Darcíl forward briskly. "Where is the Elf and ranger?" he inquired in a weary voice. His glittering and questioning eyes fell upon the steady eyes of his first captain. "Are they enjoying themselves?"

Darcíl smiled coldly and without emotion as he answered his liege humbly and yet with a touch of frosted over pride. "They will learn to love their cells," came the assuring answer. "Right now however, I find our guests are a bit ungrateful."

"Tell me, how is the Elf doing in the dark below?" he scoffed grimly and he looked into his most trusted captain's eyes.

He did not welcome how Darcíl was a free thinker, but he knew that the man would do whatever he was told, for his family's sake but never his own.

Bowing submissively before his lord, Darcíl lowered his eyes in quiet respect and said discreetly but at a leisurely pace, "he is…adjusting."

"Bring him to me. Tell him I offer him…a proposition..." instructed Dorrag with a degenerate look and yet one of an intense expectation with a mysterious glimmer in his eye that was haunting.

"May I advise you, my lord?" Asked the captain cautiously, knowing the perilous mood Dorrag more often than not possessed. The Haradrim prince nodded with reluctance and slid his signet ring back onto his finger irritably. He hated being given advice and taking it even more, but he knew that Darcíl had far more wisdom than he often let on.

"Elves' weakness lies not in their body or spirit, but their emotion. A broken heart can slay them if the tales of old hold faithful," he enlightened his sovereign as to the potential way to shatter the blonde prince below. "I think, if you harm the ranger, this Elf's emotion will sack his wisdom and he will impart to you everything you want to know."

"You know this?" asked the ruler skeptically as his fingers drummed in a slow rhythm vigilantly upon the armrest of his large golden throne. The pace at which they beat against the precious metal sped up in frustration and he demanded harshly before he gave the captain a chance to hardly gather breath to speak, "where did you learn of this?"

Gripping the edges of his chair he went tense as a bowstring and then drew a deep breath as he massaged his temples to try and get control of his temper that was beginning to flare. "Never mind. I don't care. Bring him up here." Taking a drinking vessel from the table near at hand he cast it angrily upon the floor, a loud booming clang of metal upon marble resounded eerily.

O0O0O0O

Legolas sat -if it could be called sitting- against the wall with the heavy chains about his ankles and wrists. He hated the dark. He could not see his friend and could hardly hear him. "Thorongil?" he whispered fearfully into the deep darkness of the dank dungeons.

"Legolas, I am right here," came the cool response. Aragorn reached his cold hand as far as he could with the restricting chains and found he could barely retain a faint grip upon Legolas' quivering one. "Fear no darkness, mellon nin," he said softly in an promising voice from which he hoped Legolas could gather a little strength.

"I do not fear it, Estel," he whispered hoarsely, surprised he had been able to hear his companion. "But I don't trust it and I certainly do not enjoy it." His normally strong and fair voice sounded strained and Aragorn knew Legolas was making a great effort to keep his growing anxiety down.

"Just hold my hand," said Aragorn to his friend. He smiled softly in the night of the prison as he felt Legolas squeeze it tightly. A light shown ahead in the dark corridors and catacombs of the castle like fortress. The fire of the brand sheened on the walls and glowed as the flames danced and struggled for life in the damp darkness.

Legolas watched it with narrowed eyes and he looked sidelong at Aragorn with a dispirited look all over his features.

Aragorn listened intently and to his growing dismay he heard the solid and rhythmic tramping of many booted feet. One would hope they could be left to rest after their journey and talk. But of course it would be folly for any conqueror to let his prisoners recover their strength.

He looked at Legolas and through some deep sense they both knew what was about to transpire and it wasn't going to be anything fun. It was only obvious that Legolas would be taken up for questioning and a 'session' would follow, immersing them in both in an acrimonious struggle with their emotions. And logically, Aragorn would be next.

"Be strong, mellon nin," encouraged Aragorn with a bright smile as he watched Legolas smile twistedly back with a abstruse glimmer in his eyes that looked very devious, as usual.

He is a Wood-Elf, reminded Aragorn to himself slowly. Of course his smile will be dangerously devious, especially considering he is a prince among the Wood-Elves. Knowing Legolas' crafty personality the only thing the blue-eyed prince was probably revered for was his twisted smile that he was capable of casting at anyone at anytime.

"It was you who taught me. How could I fail?" asked the Elf as he slowly released his friend's hand after giving it another quick squeeze that was a short farewell. "You are stubborn, Estel."

"You are insane and an idiot, nothing more." Aragorn watched and he honestly used nearly all his strength to push aside a sharp wince when the rusty iron key was slammed into the rusty lock with a sickening screech that resembled what Aragorn would imagine as a nazgul in its death throes.

Legolas didn't respond and instead turned a bright and precarious gaze upon the three men entering his small cell. He made an effort to remember not to scoot backwards in the least or do anything that could give his tormentors any reason to think he was weak or craven. But in reality he wanted to shrink into the stone wall and be completely hidden from everything.

A sinking feeling began to feel like it was pulling him to the core of the earth by his stomach's center and he had never realized that even lifting a single finger of clenching your fist could be such work. It was as though everything had slowed down and become heavier. He dreaded this little confrontation, deep down in his heart that was beginning to accelerate against his mind's silent commands.

Darcíl smirked down at the chained Elf and his two companions fixed Legolas with a -do-not-fight-us-or-we-can-make-your-life-a-whole-lot-more-miserable look. Legolas looked at their hands for no real reason other than the fact it wasn't a sneering face and saw the clubs they bore. Metal strips ran on opposite sides and the rest of it was a very hard oak wood as opposed to ash.

Legolas smiled grimly to himself, realizing how silly he was to be thinking of the different types of trees at this particular time. If he hadn't known better it would have appeared to him that the clubs were a rather blood thirsty lot. But they couldn't possibly have minds, could they? What a stupid question to ask.

Shivering against the cold wetness of the dank dungeon that seemed to bite through his clothes and into his bone's core relentlessly, the Elf looked Darcíl in the eye and he raised a slender brow as he informed them, "I find it hard to believe that you came this far just to see if we were well and comfortable."

Darcíl smiled hesitantly and said with a curt nod regarding the Elf shackled before him, "you are right." With a minute and nearly unnoticeable frown, the man said, "Prince Dorrag requires your presence, therefore I have been told to escort you that way."

"Well you can inform your prince that I am disinclined to venture into his charming halls," came the acidic reply as Legolas discerned what had been said from the muffles he could hardly hear. He felt an aggravating pain on his wrists and realized that the rusty shackles wound about them were working their way painfully deeper into his already inflamed skin.

"I thought you would be in that frame of mind," came to cool reply as Darcíl watched Aragorn glaring daggers at him. "So I arranged for an extra escort." He twisted his eyes back to the two men pointedly.

Legolas undetectably shifted his weight in an attempt towards relieving the annoying pain from his shackles but his crystalline blue eyes never left the tall Haradrim captain. Aragorn glanced sidelong at his friend and noticed the blonde Elf's breathing was struggling to stay steady and not give away his growing fear that was beginning to gnaw hungrily at his mind.

Darcíl took an additional red-brown corroded key and used it to unbolt Legolas' iron manacles from loops in the cold stone wall while keeping them around his wrists and ankles.

The two men came and gripped either one of Legolas' arms tightly, digging their surprisingly strong fingers into the soft flesh of the captive Elf, pinching it and leaving small bruises that actually throbbed for a split second. Legolas felt grateful that was the most painful thing he was experiencing at the moment.

Forcing the Elf to his feet, they proceeded to try and drag the blue-eyed Elf from his cell, which the more Legolas thought about it, was rather comfortable and welcoming. The prince jerked and grappled in their strong and relentless grasp, knowing perfectly well that his attempts at freedom were futile and that he was wasting his time. But he was going to make them work at least to make him do something he didn't want to. If he was lucky, he might leave a bruise or two, though breaking a nose or something might serve him better and be far more gratifying.

Slamming his elbow into the soft stomach of one of the men ruthlessly dragging him, Legolas nearly broke free. The Haradrim guard doubled over and grunted with a satisfying amount of difficulty, "you…damn…Elf."

Darcíl watched with an amused curl of his upper lip and mirth glittering in his eyes. This Elf was stronger than he had originally thought. But that was to be expected from one of the Firstborn race. They were stubborn, wise and with tender hearts that though they appeared weak were strong as weaved Mithril. It was quite an odd combination, thought Darcíl calmly as he watched the intense and frivolous struggle ensuing before him.

In the end the blonde being was kicked and threatened into submission. And that in itself only lasted a meager amount of roughly two minutes and then Legolas found his verve and attacked his captors again with an astonishing amount of effect.

Unfortunately for the Elf he was finally pinned to the ground and his arms were twisted behind him. Then they were clasped into a set of hand-cuff like manacles that were set an extraordinarily tight setting and cut off the circulation of his hands in a way that could be called painful.

Standing now before Dorrag's throne. Legolas met the man with pure and unaltered contempt seething in his narrowed eyes.

The Haradrim prince scowled with an equal amount of loathing in his black eyes. Glaring at Darcíl, who was studying the tile on the floor he screamed fiercely, "get him on his knees before me! Now!" His look of abhorrence changed to one of scorn and amusement as Darcíl came and kicked Legolas in the small of his back just below his chained hands.

Legolas felt a brief amount of pain that was hardly worth the confused and momentarily surprised look that flickered across his face and against his will his knees bent and the blonde prince fell forward. He winced as he was smacked harshly in the back of the head by the open hand of the obedient Haradrim captain.

"Look at the floor, Elf. Show some respect," he demanded as he ran his tanned fingers along the edges of the metal pinned to the club, debating on whether or not it would be a wise decision to use it just yet.

Legolas waited a fleeting moment before raising his head slowly up, a hard and grim look on his fair features. He glared stonily at the Haradrim prince who was rubbing his chin thoughtfully with his fingers as he took into account how this Elf showed no fear…at least not yet. It was something that annoyed him greatly -a prisoner not begging for mercy- but it would be beautiful when this fair Firstborn was reduced to tears. The harder they were to break, the harder their downfall was and all the more interesting for himself.

"So," he began in a drawn out way that the chained Elf found highly irritating. "Have you been informed yet as to what I spared your life for?" He met Legolas' eyes and said, "your life is much more tenuous than you would like to think." He looked at Legolas calculatingly bored expression.

"I could order your slow and painful death," he reminded with a small laugh that was nearly to himself, as though he was remembering some old and much treasured memory. Legolas wrinkled his nose in disgust.

He was quiet a minute as he untangled the words from the muffles he had heard. Then the blonde Elf said angrily, "I was never told, Edain, about anything concerning why I have been thus singled out for your abuse and contempt except hints and riddles." His own words pulsed in his ears and he found it disturbing that he could hardly hear them or feel how much of his emotion was slipped into their tones.

Dorrag sighed in sick disappointment. He then smiled wryly and waved a heavily decorated hand about him in a broad gesticulation before he asked Legolas proudly, "and what do you think of all this?"

The Wood-Elf smirked haughtily, "of what? This room? Your ill-earned wealth? Or how I was dragged here like a whipped cur and have yet to be given a decent reason?" He knitted his brows and straightened up, squaring his shoulders antagonistically. Glancing to his right, he glared at Darcíl with malice and then turned stonily back to the ruler of Harad.

"'A whipped cur'? We shall see about that later, Elf," he stated ominously. "Of course," he added. "That actually all depends on what you tell me now." A perilous and mysterious glimmer flickered in his dark eyes as he watched Legolas' face contort with nothing but pure and unaltered contempt.

"What do you want to know?" asked the Elf carefully thinking about what to say. He longed for defiance. But he was smart enough to know that would bring him nowhere at this point. He must get as much information from this Haradrim ruler as possible before he could make a half-wise decision about what to do.

"Tell me, what is your name? Surely not something that frivolous you will withhold from me?" Dorrag watched with mounting frustration as Legolas raised his chin defiantly and his eyes went the color of dark sapphire stones set in a cold silver piece of metalwork. It reminded him of a bright starry night in bitter winter without the light of the moon.

"What would you want to know my name for human?" the blonde Elf asked, a question for a question. His never lowered his chin or let his façade of calm defiance falter for even a moment.

Darcíl glared at the Elf with repulsiveness and rumbled a threatening growl in detestation. He was about to strike Legolas across the face with his open hand but Dorrag raised his right hand to prevent it. Obediently Darcíl stopped and his hand fell clenched to his side.

"You are a prisoner here, I have every right to know it."

"Ah," said Legolas with scornful understanding. "So it is on general principal then?" He smirked with laughter playing in his eyes. This Hadarim prince must take him for a fool, or he was a complete idiot himself. The words Dorrag said shouted _liar!_ So loud that Legolas was surprised the man didn't just say it outright.

"If you like," answered the Haradrim Prince. He leaned forward and whispered, "things will go easier for you if you but tell me this little trivial piece of knowledge. I may change my plans…"

"So whispered the spider to the fly as he called him into his web," laughed Legolas scornfully as Dorrag leaned back. "A 'trivial piece of knowledge' you call it. Why then do you seek it with lust in your eyes?" Legolas met Dorrag with a knowing and piercing gaze. "You would use me against my own people."

Legolas felt a slight twinge of happiness as he realized his hearing was coming back finally. But it was still hardly perfect or above average.

"So Elves really can perceive things from afar. I thought that was a fairy tale," the ruler mused quietly. He rested his chin on his hand thoughtfully. "Where do you come from?" he asked in a pressing voice.

Legolas smiled slowly at the thought of an arrow in this man's throat and with the knowledge that Dorrag was getting frustrated and angered. It was a twistedly pleasant thought. It was also a mixture of suicidal insanity that was still exceptionally satisfying.

A sharp pain hit him across his face and he fell to the tiled stone floor of the palace with a small cry of pain that he regretted the instant it passed his lips. He opened his eyes and cursed himself inwardly for closing them. Blood, salty and coppery and bright red filtered into his mouth and outlined the corners. A swelling sensation was at work on his right cheek and the Elf gingerly brought his fingers to touch the large bruise that was forming on his pale face.

Darcíl gripped the club he had just smashed the Elf across the face with tightly. He watched as Legolas got back up slowly and stared at all of them with indiscrete anger. He sucked the hot blood that was coming form his cracked lip bitterly and felt his face burning with humiliation as much as with the blood rushing to the swiftly forming welt.

Brushing some golden-hair away form his face by rubbing his undamaged cheek on his shoulder, the Wood-Elf narrowed his eyes as he tried to find his tongue, which appeared to be twisted and tied up. He felt like he could not speak. Darcíl whispered to Legolas, "let that be a lesson, Elf."

Legolas, even without the ringing that insisted on throbbing through his ears, would not have been able to hear a murmur that low. He twisted his face away sharply as he was pulled to his feet aggressively by the chains on his wrists. They tore at his skin and he felt his wrists burning as they became raw and blistered.

Dorrag growled, "take him away and see if you cannot convict him of reason." He waved his hand in disdain as he spoke, "quickly now and then report to me when you are finished."

Legolas pulled on his bonds as he was dragged from the room. He knew he was never going to get away, but he wasn't going to let them torture him willingly. He wondered what was happening to Aragorn and he sent a swift and silent prayer to Manwë that his friend was not facing the same pain and horrors that he was about to.

Darcíl waved his two men off as they struggled with the blonde Elf in tow. "Take him away to the further room below in the East Wing and secure him. I will join you soon," he commanded shortly.

Darcíl came and stood before Dorrag's throne calmly, his sharp eyes watching his liege's face for signs of his mood. "My lord, might we take counsel?" he asked carefully with an unpretentious bow. As he raised his head he saw the Haradrim prince look off to the windows.

"Captain Darcíl, the ranger, he is wounded, correct?" asked Dorrag mindfully.

Darcíl nodded, "badly so."

"If the Elf refuses to break, I want you to take that ranger and see if we don't get better answers to our questions. However, report to me first."

"As you wish, my lord," answered the captain. He then sighed wearily and said, "Prince Dorrag, how do you expect to send an envoy to this Elf's homeland without them being shot on sight?" He wrinkled his brow and spoke sternly. "I do not expect the vigilance of the Elves to allow such an emissary to pass..."

"We will have tokens that they will not want to cast aside…tokens of their friend. There will be tidings that they dare not miss," explained Dorrag as he stared beyond his captain at the tapestry on the curtains.

"Dead men are easier to search than live ones," cautioned Darcíl firmly. "With all due respect to a lord of your stature, your father would never do such a risky action. I am beginning to wonder if we have made an error. If we put this Elf to death now, word will get out soon enough."

"But the statement I wish to make will be unclear," growled Dorrag. "You are wise Darcíl. Do not question my authority or my decisions, lest your children should find themselves as orphans, serfs in the streets!" he threatened.

"Leave my family out of this!" he warned. Then went silent with anger that he was working to suppress for his beloved family's sakes. If it had only been his own life he was playing with he might have been a little more rash and careless. He could say with all certainty his body would be swinging on the gallows as a feast for the black crows. "What do you propose?"

"We shall keep one of the emissary they will send alive and make him watch as his fellows are hanged, one by one, first being that golden-headed menace you managed to capture. Then, after thrashing him within an inch of his own life and branding him we will send him quaking to his lord." He smiled coldly and his voice turned steely. "The alliance will break and they will leave Middle Earth like the craven slaves of the Valar they are."

"Surely the Elves will retaliate against us, they will not be silent after the slaying of their own who came in peace," began the Haradrim captain urgently as he sensed a dangerous mistake being made. "If they retaliate they will level this palace and everyone in it. Not even you shall be left standing, though many fall for your sake-"

"But they will not retaliate. They have seen too much war and their sorrow will run deeper than their lust for revenge," reasoned Dorrag sharply.

"What of their friends?" asked Darcíl urgently.

"They are few and even if they dared to requite we would crush them," retorted Dorrag defensively. "Now are you my right hand or not?"

"I am because you force me to," answered Darcíl forthrightly. "And I tell you this only because you ask it of me." He stared into his lord's eyes grimly. "With your leave I shall go and…attend to the Elf."

"You have my leave."

The prince of the Haradrim watched as his captain walked out. This one could be trouble. His father had been right. Darcíl was far wiser than he let on and was a talented warrior. For this Dorrag respected his captain, but his mistrust became darker.

O0O0O0O0O

Legolas lifted his head from where it had fallen numbly upon his bare blood-covered chest. He had not even remembered letting it fall now that he thought about it. It had just slipped down quietly in weariness. His blue glazed eyes watched unblinkingly as Darcíl stood before him with the club in hand.

Legolas stared at the sanguine liquid that coated the metal of the club dully but not without interest. It was his blood, lots of it, trickling on the cold iron in red rivulets. How could he lose so much? It was fascinating how much blood one had in their body and how much one could lose without dying. He felt his own hot blood dribbling down his bare chest where his tunic had been opened and the club ruthlessly applied, beating the flesh mercilessly. At one point he had been certain he would pass out and now he wished to the powers at be that he had.

Every heartbeat that kept him alive was a torment. Every breath was a complete agony as it pressed against his badly bruised and battered rib cage. Yet, he found it odd that not a single rib was cracked. Darcíl had been careful not to break a single bone and dimly guessing the dark purpose behind it Legolas shivered slightly. But he guessed that if he withheld the information wanted too long nothing would be spared.

Sweat dripped into Legolas' eyes as he worked to suppress and hide the horrible pain that was pulsing through his awareness in intense and relentless waves of sheer misery. He swallowed down a lump of anxiety that was manifesting in his throat. The blonde Elf hissed, as he became aware of what he had thought was going on for a long time; his thrashed body was screaming.

Instantly he felt ashamed and he felt his waxen face wanting to flush a bright red in mortal degradation. Willing it to show no emotion only made it drain further of all pigment, making it contrast white with the darkness of the room. But their was one spot that was not pale, but black and purple, a deep and extremely sensitive bruise on his cheek; the place where he had been stricken in Dorrag's halls.

Darcíl frowned and said, "are you ready to tell me such a simple thing as your name, master Elf?"

Legolas frowned and then he growled in a low and hoarse voice, "I have nothing to say to you save this: that you will die for what you are doing, whether it be in my time or not and you will meet a blacker than black ship one of these days."

He could endure this torment for some time, but not long. It was too harsh. His spirit would live but his body was more than willing to go ahead and beak right now. He found that highly annoying and rather frustrating. Forcing a hard look to crystallize in his eyes, the blonde prince raised his chin as best he could in insurgence. He had seen worse, hadn't he? Surely he could see his way through this and he had a feeling this was only the start of worse things to come.

"It is a shame that you cannot end this nightmare by telling me your name and your homeland," taunted the Haradrim captain. "Know that if you do not, the ranger will not be spared either." Darcíl watched with vigilant eyes as Legolas jerked in his bonds, clanking the iron of his manacles against the metal of the pole at which his hands were tied behind.

"I am Rúmil son of Cúthalion!" Legolas spoke suddenly out of fear for Aragorn, not knowing why those names came to mind. They were old names from old tales of long ago that he had not heard since he was an Elfling sitting at the fireside. His eyes were still defiant but with a spark of fear behind them.

The Haradrim man came and pressed the club against Legolas' sternum, deliberately where a dark bruise was. The rounded tip of it stabbed dully into the bruised tissue of Legolas' chest and the Elf bit his bottom lip in what could be considered a harsh way, chewing it in thus far silent agony. He felt his bones compressing against the pain and pressure and he felt the air leaving his lungs, leaving him breathless.

"It is easy to make up a name and why would you tell me this now?" asked Darcíl as he ground the club point into Legolas' chest, causing a small moan to somehow sneak past the parched and bleeding lips of the immortal.

Darcíl watched as the Elf's body trembled and the blood speckled the darkened chest. He looked into the eyes of the Elf searchingly with his own sharp dark ones. He had interrogated many a prisoner and never had found one that hadn't given in after the first round of clubbing.

The more he thought about, the club was almost a bluff to see if they were really serious about withholding the information he wanted and needed. This strange blonde Elf had, despite the fact he looked younger and less experienced with war than others Darcíl had known that had buckled, held control of himself remarkably well. It was slightly disturbing and he wondered if they were taking on a project that might very well mean their demise in the end.

Legolas regretted very much that his hearing had returned and yet he was still grateful it had. He was so tired of having the same question hurled at him and he was so tired of the pain he had been enduring for what had been two hours though it seemed like an eternity.

Darcíl gripped Legolas' chin and burned his own eyes into the dimming eyes of the bound being. "You lie, Elf. I am no fool." Taking the club, he slammed it into Legolas stomach violently and with strength Legolas found to be alarming not to mention excruciatingly painful.

Giving Legolas' chin a downward thrust, he withdrew the club and stepped back. The Elf's clammy chest was covered in blood where the club had hit same areas numerous times and broken the skin. In other places black bruises were swelling into large welts. But unlike people such as Sarchel, he received no true gratification from this sort of work. In his mind, people like Sarchel, if he could call them people, were sick.

His wisdom told him he could beat this Elf within an inch of his life and he had a feeling it wouldn't change anything. That feeling was rather…well…unsatisfying.

Legolas saw the look in the man's eyes that he knew so well. A hard knot twisted in his stomach and he felt himself trembling. Anger that he had been feeling turned on himself and he tried his best to will his body to stop. But it was slipping into a reluctant state of shock.

Darcíl placed the club down on the wooden table top with a small clatter as it rocked and going over to another table he picked up a rope, thin with metal wound into it and with iron balls placed an inch apart from one end to the other. They were rough and had parts that were especially sharp. It still had a indirectly innocent look to it.

Looking at his men expectantly, whom he had placed in the shadows when he did not need their help, he commanded of them briskly, "unbind him and strip him of his tunic."

"I told you my name!" he argued as they undid his chains and grabbing his tunic, all but tore it from his body and flung it in the dirt in a heap. He was not only dreading the pain which he knew would be horrible, because things that usually appeared innocent in these kind of places were often extremely hurtful, but because he didn't want them to drag the so far forgotten ranger into this mess.

It was interesting how Legolas' front contrasted sharply with the unabused skin of his back. One of the men twisted the Elf's arm sharply behind him and the other gripped a fist full of Legolas' golden hair and wrenched it, forcing the captive to fall back upon him.

Legolas drew in a sharp breath and Darcíl glanced at him as he ran the rope with the metal spheres through his fingers leisurely. "Place his back against the pole again but tie his hands above his head this time."

With two quick nods, both of the men hurled the Elf against the mast almost happily and while one held him by his neck to keep him in place the other wrapped tight cords about his wrists and attached those to the top of the metal post. Cold, angry and frustrated, the blonde Elf was fast losing his last nerve with these people.

Legolas felt fear rushing through his very veins and he realized with growing alarm that his feet did not touch the ground. Darcíl stood before him and said with a shake of his head, "you did not give me _your_ name, Elf. You gave me _a_ name."

Legolas glared and said, "you don't know that." He walked backward with his toes until he felt the back of his boots against the post and then he dug the toes into the dirt floor as a brace to try and relieve some pressure off his wrists.

"I can give a fairly accurate guess," responded Darcíl coolly and with a glimmer in his eyes.

Taking the rope, he slid it about Legolas' middle then went behind the Elf and wrenched it tight so that it squeezed harshly and the iron spheres dug into the poor Elf's helpless and battered breast and stomach. Darcíl then tied it and placed his chin on Legolas' shoulder. "Ready to talk?" he asked tauntingly into the pointed ear of the victim.

"You know I'm not," breathed Legolas as he jerked his shoulder from beneath the Haradrim captain's head in abhorrence. His footing nearly slipped and he drew a quick breath as he anticipated all his weight bearing down on his chafed wrists again.

He stared ahead in the darkness, away from the men and the flickering light of the torches that were set in scones on the walls of stone and earth. He saw slime on the underground walls, mold and lichens growing pale and nearly luminescent in the night of the dungeon. The dampness chilled into his ones and this was one of the few times that he felt himself feeling cold when it was extremely hot outside.

Suddenly he gasped as the rope was twisted tighter and pressed into his bruises, the metal weaved into the rope scraped his abused flesh and the iron balls pinched and created new bruises or worsened the other ones. An acute and tense pain scored his body in a blinding flash of white and caused his senses, especially his sense of consciousness, to falter and nearly give out. His body was fast becoming spent in a way it had not been in a long time.

"How about now?" hissed Darcíl in a low tone, wiping some blood that he just realized was on his nose but never once relenting the rope's close grip.

Legolas grit his teeth and spoke around his clenched jaw. "Sorry." If this Haradrim man thought he was going to break this easily he was wrong. His body may be breaking but his spirit was still going strong.

All the same though, he knew the vicious wound weakened Aragorn. But he knew what Aragorn would want him to do. Aragorn would want him not to give in, not surrender and be strong. Frowning as he struggled not to cry out, Legolas looked stonily ahead as his chin quivered.

Darcíl twisted the bond that went around the Elf's slender waist harsher and jerked it backwards, letting it cut into Legolas' defenseless stomach. Blood seeped out from around it, the result of burning shallow wounds that hardly broke the skin, scrapes. But the captain was careful not to let it go too far and kill Legolas through internal bleeding.

He still took out his frustration and anger towards himself and Prince Dorrag on the captive Elf. He would have left Dorrag long ago or killed him if he didn't think his innocent family would pay the expensive expenditure of his rash actions.

Twisting the rope again, he ground it into the already inflamed skin and pulled back even tighter still. Legolas gave a small cry and then closed his eyes for moment to blot out a few tears that somehow had managed to sneak into the corners of his eyes. He drew as deep a breath as he could and then let it out slowly.

_Just breath in an out, concentrate on your breathing and everything will be okay. It will ease this passing pain. Of course this cannot last forever, it has to end at some point, just survive until that point. _Now there was the trick. Surviving until that special and blessed point…

Darcíl said loudly so Legolas had little trouble understanding the words though they were still muffled a little, "you aren't ready to talk and I am not ready to give up."

"Funny how those feelings seem to be mutual," sibilated Legolas around his pain before his teeth sank into his lower lip again that was already split.

"Isn't it though?" said Darcíl. It was actually more of a statement than it was a question.

O0O0O0O

Aragorn sat in the dark of the cell alone. He was beginning to get rather irked with this eerie and rather apathetic place already and the sad part of the ordeal was he had only been here for some hours, not even a day. The water was dripping from the wall and the damp cold seeped through his clothes and froze his marrow in an imminent way.

Fingering his wound gingerly he felt the crusty dried blood and withdrew his hand in disgust. Sighing, he leaned back against the wall with fatigue and finding a pebble on the ground with his hand groping the floor in the lightlessness he tossed it into the blackness.

Hearing it hit the ground with a small clink of stone on stone, the ranger grimaced as it echoed through the empty and cold halls and cells. He had never felt so forlorn in all his life.

He had thought nothing could ever be worse than listening to Legolas scream or seeing his pain, but Legolas was in a room faraway and he could hear nothing. He found the silence to be even harder to bear. He just didn't know what was going on. He would rather know his friend was alive than face this tense and agitated uncertainty.

He didn't know what was happening to his dearest friend whom was wanted as an "example". He didn't know what was going to happen if Legolas broke. But he knew with a stab of assurance that Legolas would _never _break, never ever. That was somewhat a comforting thought. But he hated to think of the tortures that the prince would go through before he would most likely get killed.

Footsteps in the hall and a light in the dark made Aragorn sit up and he squinted his eyes with curiosity. Perhaps they were bringing Legolas back, but he doubted it. They only had the prince for two hours and from black memories he had of past interrogations, he knew that they normally took much longer and appeared to last to the limit of eternities piled upon eternities.

Aragorn watched as three men appeared with Legolas stumbling behind them. Widening his eyes in surprise and gratitude that his friend hadn't had to endure anymore long hours alone and in agony, Aragorn nearly breathed a sigh in relief. But he was not looking forward to seeing what injuries that stubborn Elf had sustained at the hands of his cruel hosts.

The door was swung open and Legolas shoved in before them. The Elf was then chained to the wall swiftly. Aragorn noticed as the men left that they left the torches in the cones on the walls.

Being no fool, Aragorn knew immediately why they had done so. It would be obvious to an idiot. It was a sick game they played with the two captives. The light of the torches was left to flaunt Legolas' injuries in Aragorn's face to make him weaker in fear and to sicken him.

Aragorn felt his stomach turn violently once they left and he looked to his friend, who was breathing heavily as he leaned back against the wall. It felt so good on his hot and sweaty cheeks, gently and sweetly cooling them…soothing them.

"Legolas?" he asked quietly.

A murmured, "what?" resounded. Legolas looked at his human friend with dimmed eyes. His slender hands went to his tunic that was open and he promptly closed it, fumbling with the buttons. He was amazed they had bothered to give the thing back. It wasn't like it was cold.

Aragorn noticed his friends hands were shaking and he reached over to place his own chained hand on top of the Elf's to still the quivering. He saw the deep and ugly bruise on Legolas' left cheek and he ran a gentle finger over it, wincing in sad sympathy when Legolas winced and withdrew his head. "What ever did they do to you, my friend?" he asked as he squeezed the blonde being's cold hand.

"You really don't want to know," answered Legolas glumly with a twisted grin lurking in the corners of his bloodied mouth.

"But I do," argued Aragorn as he began to peel back the ensanguined tunic flaps.

Legolas grabbed his hand and said, "I don't think so, _human_."

Aragorn sighed.

That stubborn, cocky, know-it-all, anger-provoking, stupid, reckless, meager-brained, sorry excuse of an Elf! He was going to see those wounds if it was the last thing that he ever did. If he had to knock Legolas out stone cold! Smiling at the thought, the ranger said adamantly, "_Elf_, I will see what horrors they did to you!"

Legolas laughed despite his horrible pain that only was provoked to further violence by his mirth and said, "Um…no." He wrinkled his eyebrows and narrowed his eyes. Looking darkly at Aragorn in a way christened by the ranger as the let-me-see-that-wound-I-know-you-are-neglecting-and-is-potentially-deadly-for-humans look.

"Legolas, I am well," he began to ward the persistent Elf off.

"Liar," accused Legolas benevolently as the ranger shuffled as far back as the shackles he bore would allow.

"That's like the pot calling the kettle black!" disputed the wavy-haired man in a pleading voice that Legolas thought was close enough to a whine to be called one.

"I never claimed to be well-"

"This time," interrupted Aragorn incriminatingly as Legolas' fingers began to massage his shoulder wound as they inspected it. The Elf's face was grave and Aragorn let the prince scrutinize the wound for his peace more than anything. Legolas would never rest unless he had a chance to see what injuries were bestowed.

Legolas hissed in sympathy as he felt the hole the javelin had left. Aragorn suddenly jumped and Legolas smiled dryly. "Did it hurt there perhaps?"

Aragorn was still getting over the jolt of the pain his friend's probing of his wound had made. He said vapidly if not satirically, "just a little."

The Elf grinned slightly and said, "I know these sort of things." He stopped and asked ludicrously with a raised brow, "better?"

Of course it had done nothing to heal the wound, but it had made it less stiff and easier to bear. Legolas rued the fact that he had no medical supplies of any sort. It was just another reason to hate this place.

Aragorn muttered dingily if not in a mordant voice, "I bet you just know everything." He crossed his arms and drew his knees up about his chin as he leaned against the stone. "Know-it-all Wood-Elf."

Legolas gave a small frown and then he grinned as he leaned back against the wall as well, "I think I like the sound of that…almost." He sighed and said into the air, "but it is lacking something…replace 'Wood-Elf' with 'Legolas' and I think I could live with it."

"Legolas?" inquired Aragorn apathetically.

"Hmmm…?" asked the addressed blonde Elf as he closed his eyes for a little rest.

"Shut up."

"Grumpy ranger," retorted the fair being nebulously. He swirled his blue eyes down to look at his aching wounds in the glimmering light of the torch.

As he looked at the bloody results of his torment he wondered if that really was _his_ skin. It seemed to belong to someone else. Dark purple and black blotches marred the fair-skinned abdomen among dried blood splatters. Although there wasn't as much blood as he had thought, he mused grimly. Most of the moisture that he had felt had been perspiration. He hadn't realized _he _could sweat so much. He had seen men doing it and younger Elves in warrior training, but never himself.

Aragorn looked over and his eyes immediately fell upon the ugly rope burn mingled with strange and twisted bruises that wound around the Elf's lean waist one top of the ones created by the barbaric use of the metal flanked club.

"Legolas…" he breathed quietly. "Elbereth! Whatever did they…" his silver eyes were large and darkened with commiserating pain in the dim light of the brands.

Legolas snapped his head up and his eyes locked with Aragorn's. "It really isn't as bad as it looks. Honestly…" Legolas suspired and looked at the floor then glanced back up at the incredulous ranger. "Have I ever given you a reason to disbelieve me?" His tone was one of seriousness that was a little frightening to hear, coming from the nearly always comical Wood-Elf.

"Recently?" asked Aragorn. "Do you really want an answer?" he catechized incisively. He looked at the raw wounds and he reached a trembling hand forward to move the tunic aside so he could get a better look. Legolas' hand gripped his and the Elf's voice was threatening.

"Do _NOT_ touch those!" he said perilously with the fire of battle gleaming in his blue eyes that came from fear of the pain it would incite. Aragorn could have sworn he heard the sound of them catching fire.

"Sorry, Legolas," murmured Aragorn, taken harshly aback. He withdrew his hand and turned away, fighting back hot tears in his eyes and a swelling feeling in his throat.

Legolas was immediately apologetic as he realized how he must have sounded in Aragorn's ears. "I am sorry. I know you only meant to help. I shouldn't have spoken to you thus." He looked at Aragorn with a mortally worried face. "Estel?"

He couldn't believe he had been so stupid! How could he have possibly said that so cruelly? Inwardly slapping himself and asking over and over again what in all of Arda his problem was, the Elf willed himself to stop verbally clouting himself upside the head long enough to plead his apology again.

"Estel…?" he asked in a quiet and nearly frightened voice. "You know I didn't mean it…they do hurt rather badly…I need you, you aren't angry, are you?" he finished in a defeated way. He felt his stubborn Elven pride rising up along with his temper.

"You know what, you stubborn, filthy human? I am trying to apologize!" he growled bitterly.

Aragorn turned around said, "there is nothing to apologize for, my friend." He whispered, "It is I who should be sorry. I never realized the full extent of what you have been through." Legolas realized with a stab of remorse that his friend's eyes were wet…damp with collected tears that had yet to spill over. "Forgive me, Legolas."

"There is nothing to forgive, my friend," he answered slowly. "However, I still forbid you to bring one healer-happy finger near my wounds!" But when he said this there was teasing twinkle in his blue eyes.

Aragorn was disturbed to see the hard pain behind the smile and he wished he could convince Legolas to let some of it go. He would gladly steal his friend's pain away.

O0O0O0O

Darcíl stood before Dorrag grimly and his eyes watched with slight alarm as his liege's face changed from a calm tan color to a angered crimson as he wrinkled his forehead in sudden wrath. "Most break under that sort of pressure." He found it odd and slightly disturbing that a face could change colors so easily and quickly, like switching masks. And those eyes that had been sober could flare up into a perfectly evil glow in split seconds were capable of what they did.

Darcíl asked quietly as he pushed his alarming discoveries out of his mind, "may I remind you, my lord, that I told that Elves are stronger?" he twitched back his cloak and gripped his sword hilt imperceptibly for some comfort.

"I recall that you said that, now. Now you recall the words I said, if the Elf doesn't break, have a try with the ranger," said the Haradrim prince testily. He ran his fingers along the rim of his golden goblet in monotony and dark brooding thought.

Getting up with a small frown of besetment, he rose up slowly and said, "Captain, would you follow me?"

The men went to large balcony and Dorrag placed his hands on the rail, holding it tightly as he gazed out at his kingdom. He spoke softly as he unraveled his thoughts in a way he felt he could convey them to his officer. "This is my kingdom, it is my job to make it better."

Darcíl felt a stab of alarm at Dorrag saying this was his Kingdom when his father still lived, but he pushed it down and said nothing. Nodding he gazed off at the palace being erected on the horizon like a golden ray of sunshine.

"I can be a better ruler than my father ever was. I can make this a better place for our people." He looked sidelong at Captain Darcíl, who returned the gaze evenly. "We have always waged war with vengeance and pride, but ever our costs grow more extreme. The Elves are waking up from their long sleep and have realized they can't be neutral in these wars of men. To protect my people I must prevent the Elves from raising their armies."

"I owe my people that," he finished quietly.

This prince's actions screamed _liar!_ At Darcíl so compellingly that he wanted to shout it aloud. But he held his peace and simply said, "an impressive and honorable intention, my lord." He could not keep the disbelieving and incredulous sound out of his voice.

Dorrag turned on him and asked with slight annoyance, "why is it you always seem to sound…questioning…about everything I do? You were never that way with my father," he commented wryly.

After a moment the Haradrim captain muttered, "I suppose I have been trying to impress you." He looked his liege square in the eye and then narrowed his own.

"An interesting motivation and an even more interesting way of trying to reach your objective," he remarked as he stared at his captain with scrutinizing eyes.

"Indeed, my lord," muttered Darcíl nearly under his breath.

He snorted air through his nose and stared out at this place he called home. It was dreary. The sun beat down hot now in the afternoon but as soon as night fell the monsoon rains would return and he knew that they wouldn't leave this time. The nasty weather had come and its grand appearance was going to be tonight, he was certain.

There was something peaceful about that harsh weather though. Perhaps it was looking at the sky and seeing its awesome might in the bright lightening streaking across the sky in lethal strands of purple, gold, or white.

"Where is Lieutenant Sarchel?" asked Dorrag in a strangely silky voice that Darcíl found slightly alarming to hear from his snake-like lord's lips. An imperceptible shiver sprinted up his spine.

Fearing some sort of a snare he answered carefully, taking no small cautions, "he is out with the Overseers, my lord."

Darcíl kept his eyes watching the world before the balcony, rather than let Dorrag know he was seriously listening with vigilant intent, thinking that if his luck got better the prince might stumble and say something that would give away any…potentially harmful plans.

"When you leave, Captain, go and tell him I wish to see him immediately. Tell him it concerns the Elf and ranger," ordered Dorrag quietly, the silkiness beginning to fade from his voice. It turned to scorn rather and he muttered, "he is a fool, but a advantageous one."

Darcíl felt a stab of suspicion spike up in his inner thought and it began to wrap itself around him like a cloak, and yet for being shrouded in his misgiving he felt extremely susceptible to some sort of denunciation that was going to be ever imperceptible. It was not a feeling he had often and one he certainly meant to never get attached to.

He had suspected for quite sometime now that Sarchel was going to try and undermine his meager hold on his position granted power, but if Dorrag was behind it the contrivance might very well prove to be more than he could master.

This private talk with Sarchel had to have something to do with his death. But perhaps he was being paranoid over absolutely nothing.

"As you will, my lord." In that moment he knew he had better take a cue and leave.

Giving a slight bow to his liege he said, "good day my prince."

Darcíl walked down the decorated and banner covered corridors stiffly and hastily as he wondered about the captive Elf and ranger below. He also was still disturbed over the recent tense conversation with his mealy-mouthed liege.

Narrowing his eyes he surveyed the brilliance of the halls. The banners, laced with gold and silver inlayed oliphaunts blew in a cool and refreshing breeze that ruffled his dark hair slightly. Narrowing his black eyes, the man drew in a calming breath as he brought his temper that was struggling to rise under control.

The halls were strangely quiet and as he traveled through the eerie vacancy of the once musical and full foyers.

When Dorrag's father, Dorlomin, had been in here (before they signed the treaty with Sauron to aid in his crushing of the Gondorian realms of Middle Earth) the halls had been more full as he was always one for entertainment. Darcíl smiled at the memories. Ah, those were better times; he mused to himself as he blinked over a ray of strayed sunshine seeping through the clouds and managed to find a way past the tapestries on the windows.

A noise before him made him squint and he heard an abrasive thick voice ask, "Is Prince Dorrag in his throne room or is he not?"

"Interesting," greeted Darcíl stiffly as the tense feeling in his muscles escalated. "I was just sent to find and inform you that you are wanted in there, Lieutenant Sarchel." He stopped his forward motion and vied with his junior officer in a hard glare of daggers.

"Are you challenging me, Lieutenant Sarchel? That tone in your voice sounds hardly respectful. Say 'captain' when you address me," finished Darcíl, unable to keep the mounting tension out of his voice as he stared down the other. Clenching his jaw, the dark-haired Harad man pressed his lips into a thin white line of displeasure as he watched Sarchel's instantaneous reaction to his question.

"Me, sir?" asked the Lieutenant innocently as he raised his brows in mock surprise of the accusation. "I would never _dream_ of such a thing, _captain_."

Darcíl's inquisitive glare concentrated and Sarchel looked slightly uncomfortable and it was obvious to an idiot he was trying to not to squirm like a worm on a hook. The captain's glare began to cede to a look of slight amusement at that particular thought. "See that you don't."

He raised one of his furrowed brows and the answer he received was to be expected.

"Have I given you reason to distrust my word before, sir?" asked Sarchel uneasily as he began to find the woven black and red rug they stood on quite intriguing. Though it was very ugly, now that he looked more closely at it than he had ever considered doing before.

Darcíl smiled tensely as he thought to himself: _The idiot is asking for it. I could take this chance to shred his confidence and pride and put him to such humiliation as has not been seen around here for years. _Rocking back on his heals he stammered mockingly, "I do not believe so. At least, not recently, Lieutenant."

He was not quite ready to go to the extreme and humiliate this man mortally. That would be too much too fast and with the perilous mood Prince Dorrag was in he figured that he had better play it on the safe side. However, he wasn't about to let Sarchel get away form this so easily still.

"Do not forget your position, _Lieutenant_ Sarchel," he advised ominously as he watched the younger man begin to try and slink away like a whipped dog. His eyes followed the skulking junior officer as the man mumbled a scornful and forced answer.

"I will do my best, sir." Saluting he said in an agitated tone, "good day, Captain." And Darcíl watched Sarchel's back as he slinked into the throne room, his pride lowered down a few pegs. It was rather satisfying.

**TBC……..Well, this is chapter four and already we have started that juicy bit about torture. **_-Bloodthirsty folks cheer-_ **We ask that you would continue to review and if you haven't, you can! They make posting such an enjoyable experience and are very entertaining to read. We wait in great anticipation of your thoughts and general comments. :) **

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	5. Blood, Insights and Smoke

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**_CHAPTER FIVE_**

Blood,Insights, and Smoke

Legolas hung limply from his bonds in weariness. He was weary of this pain, weary of the darkness of these deplorable cells and corridors and he was just plan weary or being weary. Now that he thought about it, that lowly cell that he had loathed seemed to be quite comfortable if you disregarded the water that now flooded it nearly ankle high due to the monsoon rains. With a stab of irritation, the Elf jerked his head since his hands were immobile, to try and rid his vision of a few strands of pale blonde hair that hung before his pale and sweaty face.

These interrogations were inconvenient, annoying, frustrating and above all very hazardous to ones' health, Legolas affirmed mentally, more to get his mind elsewhere than to for reasons of knowledge.

"Elf," addressed Darcíl as he came around from behind the blonde prince who was bound on his knees, his hands tied to a large iron post before him. "I think you are getting as tired of this as I am. You could end both our trouble and tell me such a simple thing as your name and where you come from."

Legolas's sane side immediately instructed him to not respond to the arrogant taunting. Looking at his own blood which had fallen from his back and chest onto the floor, he whispered hoarsely, "I think my pain is far worth seeing you in your frustration, _edain_. And isn't it odd that there never seems to be a dull moment in here? More than I can say for those…accommodations you gave me and my companion."

Legolas resisted the urge to wince as the Haradrim captain's thick and strong fingers pressed into his large bruise on his cheek. Twisting Legolas' head so the Elf was forced to look over his shoulder, the man said, "if I didn't think I would get carried away, I would make you eat those words."

Legolas scoffed and taunted back as well as he could with the man's tight grip on his cheeks, "go ahead. I hardly doubt a man of your obvious…self-discipline, would go beyond what he intends." He then twisted his face free of the man's grasp and spat angrily on his boot.

The response was as to be expected and Legolas withheld a cry as the boot toe collided with his already broken lips, bruising them further and creating another small runnel of blood. Sucking on his upper lip, the blonde being glared with a frosted over and permeating stare at his subjugator.

Darcíl bit his lower lip thoughtfully in mounting frustration. He growled in a thick voice that was heavily accented with a waning self-control as his last shreds of patience seemed to be fading abruptly, "Elf, seeing you ripped apart would be too much fun."

Legolas snorted and mumbled under his breath belligerently, "liar."

The Elf's eyes rotated to try and see as much as was permitted from their corners, not wanting to lift his head, as Darcíl stepped forward and said in a smoothed over voice that still sounded turbulent beneath the masquerade of calmness, "if you have something to express to me, why don't you say it so I can hear it?"

Stooping over, he brought his face inches away from Legolas' and said without any patience and overly much expectance, "well?"

His eyes pierced Legolas' dully and his mouth's corners curled up in an irritating sneer that was grating on Legolas' nerves.

Feeling the Harad man's hot breath on his cheeks, Legolas resisted turning his head away in disgust. He said stiffly as he met his captor's gaze evenly, "liar."

"Explain yourself," Darcíl commanded in a malevolent voice that sounded like the tone alone was a threat. Legolas found that to be slightly disagreeable but he ignored it.

"Your eyes speak volumes about you," he began, as he looked the Haradrim captain squarely in the eye. "You hate what you do and yet you lie to yourself, trying to say you enjoy it because this is your life and you think it is inescapable."

Darcíl narrowed his eyes and Legolas saw the anger glittered behind the darkness of them as they turned hard, like midnight colored gems. The veins on the man's neck stood out in a way that made evident his frustration and wrath.

Legolas saw his hand raised in slow motion, like everything was drenched in thick and cold molasses and he saw it heading for his face, but he didn't move. He just glared and psychologically prepared himself for the devastating strength of the blow he more than expected.

The force of it knocked his head to the side and he felt his neck nearly break and most certainly heard something snap precariously. For a moment he felt nothing, nothing at all then a hot blazing pain on his cheek and he felt the blood flushing to his face. Forbidding the few tears of pain that clustered in his eyes to fall, Legolas raised his chin in mutinous hostility.

Darcíl said nothing and Legolas watched as he went to the table in the corner and selected a small knife, gleaming like finely polished silver. Fingering the blade in quiet observation and inner reflection, he mused whether or not it needed sharpening for its purpose. Most likely not, he decided and gave it one last brief look over before walking in long strides back over to Legolas.

He then declared grimly, "tell me what I want to know."

Legolas hissed, "not while I still have a shred of contumacy left in my body." His eyes locked on the knife and Darcíl twirled it casually.

"Then we shall have to rid you of your…defiance, won't we?" Walking behind Legolas he pressed the knife's sharp tip into the Elf's bare back until it pierced the skin, "remember this, Elf?"

Legolas said nothing and Darcíl pressed the blade further, watching the red that spurted from underneath it. Then, he began to draw the blade down in a slow motion, rocking it and creating a huge laceration its wake. Legolas jerked slightly under the stinging pain that this decidedly favorite torment of Darcíl's inflicted.

Darcíl looked with unsatisfied and scrutinizing eyes at the other cuts, one…two…three…four…five in all. And that was not including the one he was working on creating now. He pushed the blade in a bit deeper and Legolas attempted to arch his back in smarting pain but the bonds restrained him.

Darcíl ran the knife backwards up the new wound in a bored formality and then yanked it free ruthlessly. Legolas felt as though all his breath left his body and he gapped for a moment before he remembered where he was and masked his pain contorted face over with a false face of calmness.

Picking up a pitcher of salt water from the ground (just out of reach of Legolas' feet), he poured some over the inflamed wound knowing the damage it would cause. Legolas could not help but shiver slightly and then he pressed his head against the pole as he tried to concentrate on better things than the pain smarting in waves up and down his marred back.

"Talk to me Elf," jeered Darcíl as he ran his hand along the wounds, brushing then with his fingertips none too gently and infuriating their pain ten fold. He felt Legolas draw a deep and pain filled breath before he let out a low and drawn out hiss escape his tortured lips.

Taking his knife, Darcíl placed it above Legolas' right shoulder blade in a bare spot where there wasn't yet a cut. He pressed the ensanguined blade and Legolas tried to twist away out of instinct he could not control that reaction and concentrate on breathing. He felt more blood trickling down his shoulder in hot little rivulets. And he saw it hit the floor like a scarlet tear.

"I will never tell you. You can torture my body to its death, but my mind is firm in its decision and refuses to waver for anyone," spat Legolas confidently as he gripped the metal of the pole with his and so tight that he was sure that be it iron or glass it would shatter.

He could feel his muscles along his back and shoulders spasming and twitching as they felt their flesh being mutilated cruelly. As his muscles shuddered of their own accord, the Elf grit his teeth and he felt the muscles in his jaw knot.

He didn't even realize right away that Darcíl had come before him and was removing Legolas' bonds from the post. Legolas looked up and realized that he was free…temporarily. He staggered up onto his feet with some strong reluctance on his body's part and forcing his weakened knees to stand and hold his trembling frame the Elf knew he had no chance of escape.

_Well,_ he thought matter-of-factly, _I have nothing really to lose. I can't just let him think I enjoy these 'sessions'. _He looked at Darcíl with venomous eyes of cold steel before lunging at him and quickly being blocked and slammed against the wall of unrefined stone. The harsh stone and grit ground into his back wounds and blinding pain hit the side of his head moved forward in a wave as he realized his right temple had grazed the rock of the wall and was bleeding profusely.

Darcíl tossed him to the ground with disdain and gave him a sound kick in the chest, slamming the force of his boot against the bruises. "Perhaps tomorrow bring you a change of mind. Pain has a way of changing things Elf. Especially if it is constant."

Legolas gave the man a confused expression before he could stop himself and Darcíl placed his knife on the table top before traveling back over to where Legolas knelt on the floor, his blood around him. Gripping him by his arm, the man suddenly looked over his shoulder as he heard the heavy grating sound of the thick wooden door being opened and men entering.

Legolas looked and saw they had in tow a very much alive and resisting Estel. The ranger's leggings were soaked up to the knees from the water flooding into their cells and when the man saw Legolas, his face paled. His silver eyes broadened and he began to try and walk towards the blonde Elf who was being dragged to his feet.

"Take this Elf and hang him from his wrist by the chain until I see fit to have him released. Make sure there is at least two feet between his feet and the ground."

Aragorn watched in horror as Legolas was shoved out. Their eyes met and Aragorn read past the furious pain Legolas was experiencing. He saw the glimmer of hope and the shimmer of defiance that was a slowly fading spark in the crystalline blue orb's depths.

But he also noticed the blood of his friend on the floor and the red liquid that ran down Legolas' sweaty chest and trembling back. It burned his heart like a hot brand set to its flesh.

Darcíl gripped Aragorn and shoved him into a corner while contemplating where to start the whole ugly process. His darkened thought was suddenly interrupted by Sarchel, who came in rather haughtily and sneered, "Prince Dorrag says since you had no success with the Elf I am to take over here."

Darcíl glared, "and of what sort of mind set is his majesty?" The Haradrim captain glared at his junior officer as though his piercing eyes could literally burn holes in the head of the younger man. If Dorrag was in a good mood, he had nothing to worry about, at least not immediately. But if he were in a mood to be feared, then he would have to mind everything he said and be on his toes.

"Go find out for yourself, _Captain _Darcíl," scoffed Sarchel as he stared at the bound ranger in the corner.

Aragorn looked at the floor and realized that he was standing in his friend's blood. The water from his clothes dripped into the small sanguine puddle dolefully, he noticed, and diluted the pureness of the Elf's silver-crimson vital fluid. It made his stomach turn and he wondered how much blood Legolas had lost. He realized with a painful clarity that he as not going to be placed under any less painful circumstances. His wound began to throb again, responding to the moisture and the festering of a creeping infection that was worsening by the day.

O0O0O0O0O

Scowling, Darcíl turned and began out of the door. He had a sinking feeling of fear for his family stabbing his gut. The betrayed sense he had before spiked to a higher level and it made him feel sick. He would rather die than have his wife and daughter put to death. He didn't care how painful, just as long as it was himself in their place.

Once inside the throne room, he came and bowed humbly before the feet of his liege. "My lord, you gave Lieutenant Sarchel leave to interrogate the ranger. I assume this means you have another purpose for me?" He tried to seem calm and meek but he felt his hot temper beginning to flare and as he gazed back up at his lord there was a fire in his eyes.

"Captain, the Elf is not breaking. This is unacceptable. You know the price of failure, I assume," said Dorrag grimly as he bid Darcíl rise. "Your family will have to suffer for your lapse. And after they are dead, you can hang with that damned Elf!" he seethed. Casting a drinking vessel at the door, he was so enraged he didn't even hear the banging noise that echoed throughout the refined corridors in loud waves that reeked of anger.

"Sir, he is an Elf. I can break him, but I need more time. He is weakening, my lord," explained Darcíl as he felt his hands clenching at his side. Sweat began to build on the palms in slippery pools of salty moisture.

Dorrag looked Darcíl up and down with disgust and spat in a voice nearly stuttering with impatience, "well if you want a second chance, you had better start asking now while I am in the mood to hear it!" His eyes flashed with a perilous look of tension that was about to be unleashed.

"Then I do ask it of you. I seek your pardon. The Elf is as good as broken, my lord," Darcíl ground out between his grinding teeth as he lowered his pride in a way he would never forget. "By an means, I will shatter his confidence and dissolve his strength."

"Very well. You have my pardon," answered Dorrag tensely and a bit annoyed. He was coming extremely close to surely losing his temper. "And gladly I give it, for I would hate to lose an advocate and friend." Smiling in a unpalatable and loathsome way that made Darcíl's stomach go for a wild ride, the prince of the Haradrim said, "think of the men we lost, because of that ranger and that Elf. But for the scouting skills of the Elf, they might be alive."

Darcíl resisted the urge to jerk away as he felt his liege's hand grip his shoulder, massaging it in a hard way that was anything but comforting and soothing. It made his skin crawl in a way that sent his hair raising and he said, "my full gratitude towards your mercy."

Mercy! The man was totally bereft of it and he couldn't believe he as lying through his teeth like this. Dorrag would see the captive Elf hanged along with his deceived emissaries and Darcíl knew exactly what would befall the ranger. Dorrag was not one for old-fashioned ways; he despised them, all save one. He did not mind the sacrificing of Elf-friends, not in the least and the more blood the more they pleased his unsound mind. But that was not the true problem, at least not the immediate one. The immediate one was the lives of his family that hung in the delicate balance.

Stiffly the captain pulled away and spoke slowly, "I think that I should be below to oversee the interrogation of the ranger. I also have other responsibilities, my lord."

"You are not a prisoner, captain," said Dorrag smoothly.

_I wish I could believe that_, thought Darcíl though he didn't dare to say it out loud.

O0O0O0O0O

Aragorn jerked as he felt the club impact his already battered chest and sent brightly blazing pain through his senses. He closed his eyes as he felt his ribs creak and scream. Rubbing his face against one of his bound arms, Aragorn wiped it clear of the thick layer of sweat that covered the pale features.

His shoulder wound throbbed as he twisted in his bonds and pressed his toes against the dirty soil that they barely touched. He looked with dazed eyes at Sarchel who tossed the club aside, bored. He gripped Aragorn's face and drew it close, squeezing harshly so that his finger's left minute bruises.

Aragorn tried to twist his head away and when he found that impossible, he let his eyes turn hard as steel before he managed out in defiance of his subjugator, "you will pay a heavy price for this. Retribution inescapable will be sought on you and your lord." Aragorn felt the anger transfer from the other man's grip to his tightly clenched face.

"Ranger, you know not what you are in for," said Sarchel and he looked at the blood crusted wound on the sore and stiff shoulder of the ranger. "I think I found a fun activity for the both of us." Patting Aragorn's cheek in a mocking way, he backslapped the pale face, before he began to walk over to the table where all the instruments of torture were held.

Aragorn felt his neck nearly snap with the force of the blow and hot blood tricked from his nose and lip. He licked his split lips and tasted his own coppery blood distastefully. His cheek burned and he felt tears smarting in his eyes oddly enough. He wasn't near ready to cry, but the force of the blow had been enough to make his eyes burn. Inwardly shaking his head, he wondered how long he would be here.

Sarchel came and placed the blade of the knife under Aragorn's nose and slid it until it came to the tip. The ranger's heart skipped a beat as he realized it was Legolas' blood that damped the unclean blade and trailed on his pale skin just above his upper lip. It was enough to make him sick and his stomach lurched violently.

Sarchel smiled and said, "your friend's blood is on you now. Disturbing, isn't it?" he inquired as he fingered the blade and looked at the red taint that came off on his fingers.

Then, he went over to a small fire the burned on the far side of the room in a tiny fireplace, much like on in a blacksmith's shop. Aragorn watched as he took the blade and placed it in the fire, just so the hilt stuck out, giving him a way to pull it free again.

The color transforming of the steel blade within the next few moments was remarkable, thought Aragorn was it watched it with narrowed eyes, already guessing the reason for its heating. It went form a shade of dull grey, to one of intense red and then white. But the thing that struck him the most was the smell of Legolas' blood, burning and drifting out of the fire in black smoke. It was nauseating odor and as it filled Aragorn's nostrils he felt vomit rise in the back of his throat. Closing his eyes as the black smoke drifted his way, the dark-haired man tried to block out the smell of his friend's charred vital fluid.

Sarchel suddenly kicked out, surprising the captive ranger and slammed his boot into the ranger's defenseless stomach with a soft thudding sound that seemed to be tens times louder in the small room. The younger human doubled over in sickening pain but his wrists were caught up in his bonds and the cords bit sharply into the already irritated flesh. It was only a few seconds before he could draw in a breath, but those few seconds felt like an eternity, a dark eternity.

Sarchel then looked at the blade before thrusting it suddenly into the wound sustained earlier by the javelin. Aragorn felt screams shatter the calmness in his mind and bright, hot white pain seared his senses and threatened to send him into a blackout. He grappled with the agony that pulsed through his shoulder to gain control of his body, which was attempting to convulse as it, felt the hot blade probe through his wound.

He felt more flesh compromising against the searing, sharp edges and blood ran down his shoulder in streams. He could smell his own blood now, metallic and placing a bitter and acidic taste in his mouth as his senses already connected the smell to the taste he had known before.

Sarchel smiled and dug the hot blade in deeper, feeling it going against the bone and tormenting the flesh of the previously torn injury.

Aragorn felt the heat of the blade burning like a fire on his raw skin and he hissed in agony. Withdrawing the knife for only a moment, the other man looked into Aragorn's face and asked, "so, what is that pretty little Elf's name and whence came he?"

Aragorn tightened his mouth into a thin tight line of pain and morbid anger. He forced his eyes to stay grimly focused on Sarchel's sneering face. Knowing his silence would irk his captor all the more, the ranger kept his mouth shut and narrowed his eyes, sparring with the dark-eyed tormentor before him in a benevolent scowl.

He smiled inwardly as he saw it work as well as he could have hoped and Sarchel's jaw clenched and unclenched in convulsions as he felt hot anger pulse through his system. Gripping the knife tightly, so that his knuckles were white, and then with his other hand he molded it into a hard fist.

"Wrong answer, _ranger!_" he fumed with frustration and pulling his fist back, he slammed it into Aragorn's right temple, rocketing the man's head back so it banged sharply with the back of the iron pole he was bound. A staggering headache palpitated behind his eyes and he blinked slowly in narcosis of the blow. But he had little time to recover before another one struck him in the chin, snapping his head up and pulling his throat so it was taut. The back of the captive's head brutally hurled against the pole yet again and he felt a welt forming on his skull.

"What is the Elf's name?" snapped Sarchel as he got up in Aragorn's face and sneered resentfully.

Aragorn said, "I am no traitor!" He spat in the mans face and was rewarded by another kick to his abdomen. He clamped his jaw and his muscles all went stiff in pain as he struggled with pressing need to maintain at least a faint grip on his raw emotions. He wished that he would go unconscious. That would be much more comfortable.

"You have made a horrible mistake," declared Aragorn's tormentor as he looked at the knife with anger glinting in his eyes. One eye twitched in annoyance and feeling of disappointment. It was nearly humorous as far as the bound and battered ranger was concerned.

He strode over to the fire and placed it in the flames again. However, he made a detour to the table where his tools lay and looked them over, stroking his chin thoughtfully. There was one rope not too unlike the one used on Legolas. But worse, because the metal spheres had spikes on one side, meant to bite into one's flesh as the cord was tightened but not cause any true lasting damage. This could possibly be fun and could be what he had been looking for to break the captive ranger anyway.

Picking it up he ran it through his fingers, looking at the dried blood of some other poor victim with a strange sense of satisfaction. Smiling wryly Sarchel walked haughtily before Aragorn and taking the rope with the spiked spheres, he suddenly struck Aragorn across the abdomen as though the cord was a whip.

That was not is true purpose, but Sarchel found it to be much more intriguing. Amused at Aragorn's contorted face, he struck out again.

Aragorn felt the steel balls slam against this abdomen and their spikes bite his flesh. It seemed to draw his breath away and he grunted slightly in the pain. But he would never betray his friend. That was not an option. He would rather go through this than see Legolas' dangling form the end of a noose.

The ranger saw the amused and almost satisfied look in Sarchel's eyes. Hissing through grit teeth, the bound man snarled spitefully, "you are sick." This was not meant to be an insult, it was the honest truth. Aragorn knew, of course, that this was not going to help his deplorable predicament, but he had to say it and somehow it felt rather good.

The response was exactly the opposite of what any would have thought and yet it might have been expected in some strange and twisted way.

"You have no idea, ranger," said a smooth voice that sounded like it belonged to a talking snake. Sarchel fingered the metal and hemp weaved rope thoughtfully as he looked at the ranger and saw the bleeding wounds he had created on the shivering and sweat soaked abdomen where the barbs had pierced the skin and caught before being torn free. The spines were small, so the wounds looked like enlarged cat scratches but bleeding more and reaching far deeper.

Suddenly, the Haradrim soldier's eyes glanced down at his fingers as he felt moisture, Aragorn's blood, a shockingly bright red, stained them. It wasn't much, but it was enough to make him smile in a slow and dark way that sent the powerful want to shiver through Aragorn's system. He felt the hair rising on the back of his neck in a cold fear.

"So," Sarchel went back to the fireplace and taking tongs, pulled out the heated knife. Holding the now whitened blade up and inspecting it he asked, "shall we continue?"

**TBC…….Well here is the end of chapter five. So Aragorn-angst fans, is this a bit better for you? Don't worry, there's more where that came from. We told you it was his turn to get the tar knocked out of him. **

**Please Review. They make posting fun and make us want to continue and with a cliffy like the one above, you would want us to post some more soon, wouldn't you? Yes, we know, we are evil. :) **

**Thanks for the reviews for chapter 4! We really enjoyed those and look forward to hearing more. **

**link called Story Challenge 1 June 1. htm. **


	6. Through These Eyes

_**CHAPTER SIX**_

Through These Eyes

Darcíl went to the window in an isolated and small hallway before he stopped and stared out of it glumly. His dark eyes narrowed thoughtfully as he looked towards the sun and watched the new palace being erected against the horizon. He could hear the trumpeting of the huge oliphaunts as they were driven to haul huge loads.

He remembered Dorrag when he was younger, much younger and even then he was ambitious. However, now that his father was off to war with some of his best men the prince had taken it to his bigoted mind to try and leave the kingdom better off than when his father had left it.

Of course, as it has been with many in history he was failing miserably. The people were tired of it as well, though none dared to oppose him for very obvious reasons that had been painfully learned. The Haradrim captain remembered that with vivid clarity. It was not an event to easily be lost from memory and cast aside. He was ashamed to say that he himself had a hand in it and without him it may have perhaps never happened.

But he would rather not think about that now, it brought back too many painful memories that made his heart far heavier than it already was. Running his fingers through his black hair that had a red band about the brow to hold it away from his eyes he drew a heavy sigh of displeasure and annoyance. He shut his eyes and noticed absentmindedly that he could not feel the hot beams of the sun upon his face and dark hair.

The rains had come and they would not see the sun for some time. That thought alone was enough to depress him and principally at this time in his life. Opening his eyes he looked out the window again and saw the dark clouds coming, ominous and blotting out the light with their bulk. And yet they were eerily beautiful and they held him in awe for a reason he could not grasp.

Drawing out his sword, he held the blade in his hands and looked at its edges with furrowed brows as though he was staring at the lengthy letter of explanation from a lost lover. There was innocent blood on this blade, and it cried out to his conscience in wails of sorrow.

He felt a breeze pick up and looked to see the tempest moving closer at a rather high rate of speed. Lightening and heavy rain came in its front, announcing its terrible arrival. Sheathing his sword he placed his hands on the sill and gripped it tightly as he leaned out to look below.

There was nothing as their once had been and it made his heart bleed. He could not forget the countless time he had looked down to see children practicing fighting and tearing around, causing havoc. They had always lightened his heart, but now they were gone, pestilence had swept the land. Many believed it was a curse out of the West, given to them in cruel scorn of their contempt. For this they hated the Valar and Elves much more and considered any who were friends with Elves to traitors of Middle Earth and of their tribe.

He himself had believed this once, but he was questioning it now. Notwithstanding he knew that this would do no good for the captives. The Elf and ranger were doomed as assuredly as if the powers at be had written it in the sky for all to marvel and behold. He knew that once an Elf was placed on the gallows and the people had a chance to release their bitterness on a tangible object and not just a myth out of reach, then things would get a bit crazed in the village.

Perhaps at the Elf and the emissaries' execution he should order an extra garrison of troops to help keep a decent order to things. After all, he thought with a twisted smile, it was supposed to be a solemn event. But his smile quickly dispersed from his face, being replaced by a grim frown. Dorrag would turn it into a celebration though, uplifting himself and his might. And who would question it after an example was made of the Elves and the ranger was later sacrificed at Dorrag's dark request.

Then there was Sarchel to consider, Darcíl recalled tenebrously. He still wondered what in all of Middle Earth had been spoken between his lord and that cursed upstart of an officer in his abrupt absence. He was sure that Sarchel was trying to usurp him of his position as head Captain and most trusted infantry adviser.

The man was a fool, however.

Sarchel would never be placed in a higher position unless he really screwed something big up and was executed. Darcíl knew he was invaluable to Dorrag, though he was sure Dorrag was extremely jealous of his position and resentful of his wisdom that far exceeded his own. Darcíl backed away from the window as he felt the rain blow in and sprinkles down upon his hands in cold droplets that also proceeded to speckle his clothes.

Going in quick strides that easily closed the space between himself the door to the dungeons. He went quickly down the winding stairs of thick wood and turned into the first set of dark and apocalyptic corridors where the Elf and ranger were being held. His feet splashed through at least tow inches of water, due to the rain of the monsoons.

Drawing a key from his pocket, the Haradrim captain stood outside of Legolas cell door, watching with narrowed eyes of displeasure through the bars as the Elf dangled from his right wrist, all his weight pulling against the manacle.

Legolas heard the key enter the lock with a nerve-grating creak and he opened his glazed blue eyes to give the man a dull stare. He instantly became painfully aware once more of the screaming pains that coursed through his shoulder and arm under the cruel tension they were forced to endure. His archery was going to be ruined forever, thought the Elf wryly and as he mused to himself. Though it was stupid to be thinking of that sort of thing now when it certainly was not the immediate problem.

"Elf," he approached with mock caution. He couldn't get over how the blonde being's eyes still shone brightly _through_ the glaze that had settled over the large blue orbs that were now narrowed in a considerable amount of wrath. Most prisoners, at least form his own experience, never kept their bright eyes long after the film began to gloss them over with spiritual death and real agony. This Elf was different and he hadn't gotten a chance to see the ranger yet. But things had been going strangely and it wouldn't surprise him in the least if the other captive were just as bizarre.

"Human," addressed Legolas in turn through grit teeth, having nothing else to say. He closed his eyes as pain blinded him for brief moment and nearly forced him to cry out. He wanted to make up a further insult but some how, conceivably because of his intense pain, the words simply didn't come. But perhaps that was best; after all, those sorts of things had a discouraging efficiency at enhancing his discomfort.

"You know, you shouldn't be suffering thus," Darcíl stepped up to Legolas and placed his hand on one of the Elf's flushed cheeks feeling the heat in them and the sweat that covered the clammy features like a thick and frothing film. Legolas could not believe he was suffering this man to touch him thus, but there it was and he was in far too much pain to care enough to put a stop to it. And it also didn't help that even if he wasn't in the pain he was and did care enough to put a stop to it, there was nothing he could do but endure it. As well as if he _hadn't_ been near the point of passing out he might at least make some sharper comments about his personal space. That thought was slightly encouraging.

Just because he was encouraged that much the prince had to make comment. He simply was helpless not to. It was most likely not the smartest thing to do in this situation if past reactions to this sort of thing were any manner of a guide.

"I know and you along with your men will pay for it," spat the Elf and then he arched his back as pain rippled through his body, causing it to convulse and take control of itself. Legolas worked to regain control of his nerves, trying _not_ to show his weakness to this human that he scorned bitterly as he had not scorned a man in a long time. It was anger inspiring and annoying all at once. He found it remarkable how those two traits often came together, annoyance and wrath.

"That was not what I meant and you and I both know it so don't play those deceitful games," growled Darcíl irritably as he placed his hand on Legolas' right shoulder and began to press down as he squeezed it, putting more weight on the iron manacle that had already cut into the pale skin. He could see a faint outline of blood beneath the cuff. It wasn't satisfying, but it was the deliberate effect that had been pursued and the way the Elf's breathing was slowly but surely accelerating was a plus as well.

Legolas blanched noticeably. He drudged to keep his eyes open to face the human before him rather than let him think him weak. But he finally decided that he didn't care what the man thought, he could make whatever assumptions he wanted, and they didn't matter. Closing his eyes, the blonde Elf clenched them tightly so that his brow furrowed. He wondered why he was doing this when it frankly didn't do a thing to ease his growing misery. As a matter of fact, it only served to cause the growing headache he possessed to strengthen in potency and nearly blind his vision.

"Now let us try this again," the Haradrim captain said as he applied a bit more pressure, knowing that in this particular case a little went a long way. Legolas' felt his skin tear some more beneath the manacle that began to feel like it was burning him. His arm felt as though it was ready to disconnect from his quivering body. His whole body was feeling quite detached from itself actually, which was a rather disturbing and puzzling thought. "What is your name?" Darcíl asked the fair being in a cold and calculatingly voice.

Legolas reached inside the depths of his spirit to gather up what defiance he could spare which was a surprising quantity. "None of your…business…murderer." He honestly didn't think that comment would go unpunished but as it did, Legolas began to feel a bit bolder. But he also began to feel a bit suspicious…some thing wasn't connecting…was not right…but he didn't know enough to say for certain. This mystery raised his state of irritation a notch higher.

Swallowing down a hard lump of agony that stuck in his throat, the prince forced his eyes to open so he could see the reaction of his captor, hoping to see some sign of ire. He knew he was being an idiot, wanting to see his subjugator enraged and thus risking more pain. But it was strangely his delight and he couldn't think of a real reason why. Perhaps he really was insane. It was a definite possibility, he mused oddly. After all…he had been around Aragorn long enough for the ranger's antics to rub off on him.

"But it is my business Elf and until you speak your misery is going to be unrelenting," Darcíl threatened and his heart was in it. It was a strange change in tone and Legolas knew that Darcíl's heart and soul was in this omen and that he had better be careful about his choice of words. Legolas shivered as the man went behind him and ran his finger along the still bleeding lacerations made by the cruel knife. A few more shivers tried to follow the first but he put an abrupt and definite stop to them.

As Legolas tried to draw a deep breath he found it was impossible with his bruised chest being stretched and his muscles spasming. Choking on his want for more air, the Elf managed to get a meager amount of ventilation into his hungry lungs. But it was hard to cough as well and Legolas pulled his free arm around his battered rib cage, trying to ease the swiftly rising pain that made him feel as though his chest would explode into millions of tiny pieces.

Darcíl jabbed his finger into one of the wounds and Legolas stiffened and then his feet beat slightly as he jerked against the pain. His muscles seizured and he could not avoid it. More sweat pooled on his damp and hot brow. Darcíl rubbed the Elf's silvery blood between his fingers in disgust before he gave Legolas a smarting pat on his cut shoulder blade meant for a jeering comfort. Legolas didn't respond, as he had expected.

"You and I both know you will never make it out of here alive, Elf or that ranger. You can go easy or be tortured to death," he explained with a slow relish. "There is no where left to run." He tangled his hands in the golden tresses and tipped the blonde being's head backwards, causing Legolas to pull more on the single manacle.

Stars plagued the prince's vision in bursts of odd color mingled with a bright white light and he felt himself spinning while everything seemed to remain strangely still and at ease. He felt like he was leaving this cruel world and entering into a new one though he couldn't be dying because it was still harrowingly painful. He grimaced and then forced himself to keep a calm façade though it was conceivably the hardest thing he had ever done in his life. But behind his eyes a growing fire of intense fury was slowly building to a point where it may not be able to be contained.

Darcíl jerked his head from side to side and thus caused Legolas' tortured frame to swing from side to side as well, the chain and cuff sawing into the inflamed skin. "Are we ready to talk yet?" inquired the Haradrim captain as he released Legolas' head of his hold and took a step back, observing as the Elf swung in his misery from side to side like a pendulum.

Legolas heard the water of the small flood slosh behind him as Darcíl went and retrieved a chair from the corner. He put it beneath Legolas' feet, allowing the prince to have a rest. Legolas found breathing to be so much easier and if he didn't know the comforts of a finely stuffed chair or a soft feather down bed he would call this extremely comfortable. But he still cast a puzzled look at the piece of furniture beneath him. He didn't know what it was for but he was sure his pleasure and comfort was not even vaguely on reason.

He tried not to show how relieved he was for the temporary ease of his agony but his body gave his mood away and for that he resented it all the more. His blue eyes fixed on the man of Harad and he asked in an icy tone, "what is your game? You care not for my pain and suffering, so why abate me?" Legolas made sure that his eyes hardened as he asked the question just to emphasize his mounting anger and doubt.

"I am doing the interrogating master Elf," said the captain and he braced a foot against Legolas' chair as the prince watched his face. Suddenly he kicked the piece of furniture out from beneath the Elf's booted feet and Legolas fell hard against his bond that suspended his body from the ceiling. The chair tumbled into the water with a splash.

A mixture of confusion and slight fear crossed Legolas face before he fell and the chain went taut with his lurching weight. A small cry passed through his tortured lips and the prince winced as he heard it, his shame stabbing him as painfully as any dagger through the heart might have. But he could not stop himself from hissing in ascending agony and he chewed on his lower lip until it bled through freshly opened cracks in excruciating suffering.

Darcíl stood back and watched a moment before asking, "how about now?" He taunted in almost a chant, "all I want is something so simple as your name, just your name and where you live. How hard is it to say two words, three at most? Certainly you would be relieved of your pain?"

Legolas' voice was hard and cold as he retorted unyieldingly, "it would be simple indeed…but two words or even one can be as fatal as many. I know enough of your purpose." He was not an idiot. Committing to these men his name and where he lived was a fool's errand. Valar, even f he told them, what were the chances that they would believe his identity, Legolas Greenleaf Thranduillion, Prince of Mirkwood? They would probably punish him more for 'lying'.

"Very well, Firstborn," he consented. Picking up the chair, he set it beneath Legolas' feet again. Forcing the Elf to stand on it. Legolas could not very well resist for the pain his body was already in and Darcíl knew it and wisely played upon the Elf's vulnerability. "But you don't know the half of my purpose."

Legolas looked down at the water moody and silent and at the red taint to it, realizing his back was bleeding and it was dripping into the water to turn it sanguine beneath him as he had been suspended. Darcíl reached up and inspected the stretched and bloodied wrist of the Elf nearly displeased that it had not dislocated yet But torture was not something he took pleasure in an so the other part of him was somewhat grateful the Elf's body was this strong. Legolas continued his scrutiny of the dreary flooded floor of his cell. He may not know half the purpose but he wasn't sure that he entirely wanted to anyway even if eventually he would have to.

The Haradrim captain glanced at Legolas' white face and then he took the Elf's pulse by placing his fingers none too gently along Legolas' jugular vein. The heartbeat was erratic and strong as Legolas' fear pulsed through his veins. The Elf was afraid, but he was trying to hide it. Well, he could bring it out in due time.

Legolas jerked his head away, not wanting this disreputable man's fingers anywhere near his neck, especially the vein that held his life source. And it was rather uncomfortable to have someone fingering you neck and poling you. As far as Legolas was concerned he was going through enough and didn't need to take the slightest bit more. Not that his feelings on his issue were going to even be counted but he felt the need to try and display them.

Darcíl looked at Legolas' body, trembling in pain and weakness, in quiet contempt. He placed his boot with indifference against the chair backing and then struck again, knocking it from beneath Legolas feet. The blonde being's legs beat the air helplessly as all his weight was thrown against his defenseless wrist once more, sending vilifying anguish through his awareness.

O0O0O0O

Aragorn cried out softly as he tried to breathe. His ribs felt as though he had an oliphaunt sitting on top of them, breaking them, pressing the air out of his lungs. As he lay on the floor, the ranger stared morosely at the boots of Lieutenant Sarchel, who stood gloating above. A lot of things were grating on Aragorn's nerves. The dark, cave like room with hardly any space to walk and lit by a few meager torches, the cruel and taunting methods of torture being used that were more than completely painful. But the most of all he had really and truly began to loathe Sarchel with a passion. Well, that was not entirely accurate, he pitied the mixed up man as well, but it was more scorn than it was pity. Sarchel was more than sick, he was _totally_ sick.

Aragorn did not remember much of what had happened, it had been extremely painful and he knew he must have gone unconscious at some point. For there was a black spot in his mind of frightening emptiness after the knife was put to use probing his wound once more and maiming the already tortured flesh. He had felt it dismember flesh from bone and puncture deeper. That had been the most alarming part, smelling his own burning flesh and feeling his skin burning as well as being torn.

There had been stars, he remembered feverishly. And they had been bright and the white light of them had burned his eyes with its radiance. Then he remembered everything spinning in disoriented directions and he remembered falling into nothingness (thankfully).

Shivering as he realized that he was shirtless and the stone tiling that he was lying on was as cold as a bitter ice, the man debated whether to try and rise. He felt sharp pain when he tried to move and his ribs throbbed. _Legolas, _he thought resentfully, _I am sorry I brought you into this mess. I am so very sorry. I should have never let you come with me. You could have lived to be an old and wise Elf of many many, many summers and winters. But for your friendship with me you might still be yet enjoying life. _

Aragorn managed to get up to his knees one minute movement at a time. As he hunched over them, shivering violently he clutched his sides, trying to ease the shocking pain that shot through his consciousness with headache stimulating results. Sweat took his body warmth away as his clammy skin began to dry a little bit at a time. He was also trying in vain to remember when he had last been in this much pain. It had been a long while, he thought gloomily. He didn't know whether it was depressing or not. It all depended on how you looked at it.

Sarchel delivered a heavy kick to the man's chest, throwing him backward, before asking in a detestable sneer, "so what is the Elf's name, ranger?"

Aragorn felt dizzy and he whispered, "by me you will never know." Wiping his mouth with the back of his trembling hand, Aragorn noticed with alarm that a red streak crossed his pale flesh. Then he suddenly felt it come back into his mouth, filling it with a coppery feeling. But from the way it flowed in he knew it a miniscule amount.

"I think I will," returned Sarchel as he gripped Aragorn intentionally by his wounded shoulder and dragged him to his feet. But Aragorn's strength was sacked from his earlier torment and whatever new one was planned he deeply feared it could be too much. He didn't care so much for his sake, but for Legolas'. He had dragged that insane Wood-Elf into this mess and he felt more than obligated to drag him back out and not betray him.

Pulling Aragorn to where a chair was in the corner, Aragorn guessed the man's intent and he decided that if he was going to be tortured in this new fashion, then he was going to let Sarchel know he certainly did not enjoy it.

Kicking out, he made sure to land his boot's hard toe into the shin of the Harad man's leg. Sarchel stumbled and fell, bringing Aragorn down beneath him with one of his elbows crunching into Aragorn's most injured rib and causing the ranger to give a curt cry of intense and quick pain that lingered after the hard end of the elbow was removed, leaving Aragorn short of breath. Who had ever thought a simple elbow could inflict such damage and pain?

Sarchel then gripped Aragorn by his hair and pulled the ranger quickly and decisively to his feet. He forced the ranger to stand upon the chair and clamped one manacle that hung from the ceiling about his left wrist. With a cruel light glimmering in his eye he brightened up deviously. "I bet you are wondering what your friend is going through right now, that miserable Elf in all his beauty," he scoffed as he watched Aragorn's face drain. "Well I thought I would help you see things more clearly."

He then kicked the chair out and Aragorn had only enough time to look down and see his feet falling and beating against the air before the chain went taut and he felt a sharp and spreading pain in his shoulder creeping up his arm. A blinding light burned his eyes, as he literally seemed to see his anguish.

_Legolas I am so sorry if they speak the truth and you truly are experiencing this torment. You don't deserve it. _Aragorn swung like a pendulum from the cuff and he felt it bite and tear into his wrist as his weight was hurled against it. It was the most miserable thing he had ever experienced since the clubs.

Sarchel slid the toppled piece of furniture beneath the ranger's kicking feet again. Aragorn was surprised how even a minute in that hanging position hurt him so deeply. He kept his grey eyes analytically hard so his thoughts could not be read easily by his subjugator. "And to think that poor Elf is enduring the suspension portion of this process so much longer. He is very strong. You wouldn't want to see that great strength…broken, would you? Would you not rather he die proud, not after he is crushed and a shadow of what he was?"

"You are going to regret those words later," said Aragorn as he felt a shiver creep up his spine. "My friend's strength will out last your wickedness plans. He doesn't fade!" spat the wavy-haired man around his swollen lips. Fury was mounting in his eyes as he realized that this man was talking about his best friend as though he was no more than some worthless animal. But then again he felt a satisfying feeling creeping into his thoughts as he realized that these cruel and heartless men had at least admitted that Legolas was strong.

"In your last dreams," replied the Lieutenant tersely and the chair fell from beneath Aragorn's feet again.

With a cry, Aragorn fell once more and his battered chest stretched, as did every muscle in his body. He writhed for minute and then felt a sickening pop as his shoulder dislocated. Bright and furious pain dazzled his senses and he screamed as he felt the joint sliding about outside of its socket with soft sickening noises.

O0O0O0O0O

Legolas had remained silent, hanging limply by his wrist as Darcíl taunted him rigorously. Legolas felt no need to talk, or open his eyes. He couldn't hear that well still from the close encounter with the lightning bolt. So he could let his thoughts drift away without much harassment from sound. Indeed, his body was captured but his spirit could soar and it was with the stars, floating in the air between the stars and the earth. But he couldn't tell whether his hearing loss was a good or bad thing. It depended on the predicament he supposed.

He had been placed on the chair and had experienced the grueling and harrowing pain of having it yanked from beneath him several times so that blood ran down his arm in a small river, flowing then down his chest in an annoying trickle. He was surprised the main artery had not been slit in his wrist but he doubted Darcíl would let him die just yet. He knew that he was still valuable and that if he came too close to death this torment would end and he would be given a healing reprieve. For how much he knew that swine of a prince wanted him alive…for now…he wouldn't be surprised if the best healers were told to keep him alive.

Darcíl placed his face up by Legolas' pointy ear and murmured, "I think your friend just screamed. Something horrible must be happening to him."

The Elf turned his face towards the man and spoke haltingly because of the pain he was in, "he did no such thing!" Pressing his lips into a thin white line that blended in remarkably well with his pale set features; Legolas expressed his obvious disdain and wrath at the man before him. He blinked as he struggled to remain awake long enough to let this man know exactly what he thought of him.

"You are a liar," snarled the Wood-Elf as he dangled from the manacle. "And you are a crooked fool. A suck up to that half-witted bovine that I believe you call a 'prince'." Darcíl's hands tightened noticeably at his side and he glared daggers at the Elf while he regained the last shred of his patience.

He knew very well that Legolas was right if you disregarded the liar comment. That made that little lecture all the harder to bear and he slapped Legolas sharply across the face, drawing blood from the blonde Elf's nose. He felt inward anger at himself building and if he had into the self control needed he might have actually beaten the Elf into a pulp for daring to bring to light what he had hidden in the dark. "And you are a nosey Elf who needs to learn to mind his own affairs and stay in the forests!" he hissed. "And your friend did scream, you can trust me on that and know I don't steer you wrong, Elf."

Legolas said nothing, he didn't need to. The darkened blue eyes spoke very verbose volumes about his thoughts on the situation. His gaze was compellingly scrutinizing, as his sharp Elven eyes seemed to pierce through Darcíl's heart. Even though they were glazed over they were vexatiously strong, reflected the Haradrim captain as he stared back into their depths. Indeed, he saw a hidden strength that he perceived would be extremely impossible to break. That alone was enough to make him want to stamp his foot in frustration though that would be rather immature he reminded himself glumly.

Legolas knew more or less what the Haradrim man was thinking about him and he really didn't care. Raising his chin even in his torment, the Elf snorted and turned his gaze into the darkness, giving Darcíl the impression that he didn't think the human was worth his time. Which wasn't just a show, he truly believed the human was not even worth the effort he was putting into remaining awake simply to gather the man's ire.

Every breath Legolas drew was a torment and he coughed raggedly as he tried to drag a full amount of air into his voracious lungs. But at most he could draw half of a breath before the pain of his bruised and swollen chest squeezed it out again, begging for more. His feet were limp now; tired of useless kicking that only succeeded in draining him of vital energy. He now wished he had saved his strength to kick his tormentor and let him know full well that he was not as helpless as he seemed.

Darcíl knew that slowly this blonde Elf would wear down in time and then he would break. The ranger might break sooner though and that would be all the better. Smiling coldly with ice and steel weaved cleverly into the brightness of the grin he gave a Legolas a little shove, letting him swing in his bond. This was one of the few things he did that Legolas found so difficult to endure…at least one of the few things so far. Legolas wasn't so stupid or naive as to think that this was the worst he was going to receive. No matter how much he wished this would be the worst, he knew very well that it wasn't going to be by a long shot.

Turning his back on the dangling prince that had ceased struggling when this happened some time ago, Darcíl made his way to the door, sloshing through the filthy water and exiting the small cell. Legolas watched him go and as soon as the man was gone further down the hall and into the darkness, most likely to go and check up on Aragorn, Legolas reached up his free hand and gripped the chain. He used what strength he could muster and pulled his own weight up and held himself up, giving his wrist a break.

The short reprieve was so refreshing that it made Legolas nearly terrified of falling again. But it also made him content and feeling lightheaded and very nearly giddy with relief. Smiling to himself for moment in his meager and short lived victory the Elf began to shake as his nearly diminished strength faded further.

He felt his arm trembling after a few minutes. The prince willed himself to hold on just a little longer and then his hand let go of its own accord and Legolas plunged back down, his wrist chaffing even more. He winced and stifled an abrupt wail at the same time his arm burned with renewed vigor.

Panting, the Wood-Elf reached up again and pulled himself up once more. His whole body began to tremble like a leaf in a gale after less than six seconds and then his grip loosened and he fell once more. Legolas drew in half of a quavering breath and then leaned his head against his stretched arm as he felt his world spinning. He knew that only caused more pain but he was disturbingly too tired to think of or do much of anything else.

Wiping the sweat from his brow against his bloodied arm, the Elf whimpered slightly as the action infuriated his torment and it became harder to bear. Sighing in near despair, the prince wondered when he would die. Immortality was overrated at times, he concluded in his weariness as his dulled blue eyes scrutinized his prison before they found an oddly intriguing interest.

Looking at the water below he watched it swirl in small whirlpools below his slack feet. It was something to do anyway. But it only made his stomach lurch and so the Elf closed his eyes, though he knew sleep was impossible in this position. Smiling grimly he thought to himself, _you never could get a decent sleep can you? _

Darcíl opened the door to the room named by most as the 'torture chamber' and as he thought of the cruel sounding name it fit quite well. Placing his hand on the handle, he slowly pulled the door open and prepared himself for the gruesome scene he knew would unfold before his eyes.

Sarchel stood in the corner, screaming at Aragorn, who was swinging from his wrist, attached to the manacle in turn attached to the chain in the ceiling. His feet were beating the air in spasms as he jerked in his pain.

"What is the Elf's name?" asked Sarchel again as he delivered a solid punch to Aragorn's jaw, pitching the ranger's head backward upon the hard impact. Aragorn's dislocated shoulder screamed at him and he felt blackness creeping upon him. Blood ran from his nose and mouth where his face was broken in several spots.

He felt his mind swirling and everything was merged into bleary images. Black spots mingled with yellow ones danced before his vision as he felt himself sliding quickly into refreshing unconsciousness. He didn't fight it in the least. This unconsciousness was a blessing in disguise if ever there was one. Curious, this was what it was like to be in the air amid the stars… But then he remembered this feeling was not entirely new.

He closed his eyes and felt the pain lessen slightly, much to his relief. But his ears picked up on the conversation between Sarchel and captain Darcíl that was quickly escalating into an all out argument.

"He is ready to break!" yelled Sarchel in frustration at his captain's decision and Aragorn felt the Lieutenant's hand against his hot and clammy shoulders shake with anger. He willed himself not to shiver beneath the ungentle touch though all his muscles wanted to tremble.

Darcíl snapped, "he is getting narrowly close to death! _Lieutenant_," he stressed the other man's position angrily. "If he dies then I am accountable, as you are under authority from me. That is called responsibility, something you know nothing of. Now, I order you to get him down and place him with that cursed Elf!"

Sarchel knew that he was bested. He was a weak man when it came to physical strength and weaker still when it came to mental strength. He did not have the courage to challenge his superior officer, not yet. He carefully said, "As you wish, sir." But there was a dark malice weaved nearly undetectably into his voice that made it seem more like the growl of an angered and humiliated dog than the reply of a man.

Darcíl found that comparison moderately amusing and resisted the stanch desire to smile at the thought of Sarchel crawling around on all fours and perhaps panting a little as well. But he knew it was too much to hope for.

Sarchel did as he was bid solemnly and sulked as he undid the ranger's cuff and the captive fell against him. With disgust, he let Aragorn fall to the floor and curl into himself in agony. With a sneer the lower officer rolled him over onto his back and Aragorn opened his glazed eyes wearily to see the dark ceiling wavering above him.

He felt relief flow in to every part of his body as he came to the recognition that he was on solid ground and pain was not lancing through his left arm and neck. However, his bruise mottled chest still felt congested and broken into many fragments, each with its own type of pain, throbbing, constant or dull.

"Now you will take him to his cell," growled Darcíl. "And I don't care how he gets there, just as long as he is there before I finish counting to fifty!" His eyes narrowed and with his furrowed brows he looked convincingly commanding.

Gripping Aragorn by his bleeding shoulder and letting the dislocated one drag against the stony floor, Sarchel began to drag Aragorn out of the door.

Aragorn didn't resist as he hit every rut in the floor and his out of kilter shoulder took the brunt of his pain. He let himself by dragged along towards he and Legolas' cell while strange shapes and stars whirled about him as he felt himself falling into a black abyss of nothingness.

He wondered what Legolas reaction would be to this incident. Smiling inwardly, he knew that the Elf would be irate and most livid being on the face of the earth. Then Aragorn experienced an acute stab of worry, realizing that Legolas would be the most irate and livid being on the face of the earth if he were conscious.

He wasn't worried about them breaking Legolas. He had known the Elven prince long enough to know that was a hard feat that had only been reached once and he knew Legolas had learned to be stronger from that experience. But he _did_ worry about the pain his friend was experiencing or had been experiencing. Legolas felt pain the same as anyone else. He also knew that Elves died just as easily as the other races and that was a thought that was alarming and caused his mounting headache to sharpen to an unbearable height.

He felt water slosh around him and soak him, freezing him to the marrow, as they went down the slightly lower inclined hallway that was flooding. The cold water only served to worsen his already morbid and pain-racked state of mind. The ranger shivered as he heard the grating of the iron door being swung open with a screech that irritated his nerves.

The dirty, cold water splashed in his face, causing him to choke on it. His dislocated shoulder throbbed and then went numb. He felt a strange tingling sensation in his fingers that meant the arm was going dead from the lack of circulation. That was anything but a calming thought and most definitely not optimistic but he saw no reason to skate around the inevitable truth.

He became blearily aware that he was being dragged further and being placed in the sorry excuse even for a dungeon. If they were going to keep he and Legolas prisoner then they could at least give them a half-decent dungeon to be held in. It was in such decay that if they were not chained, unconscious or in too much pain to think straight, a easy escape plan wouldn't be too hard to conjure up. He smiled again inside, especially with Legolas' devious wood-Elf brain. But then again the plan such an Elf might come up with could quite possibly be far too reckless to even slightly be considered foolproof.

Aragorn winced and allowed a small groan of instant and brief agony as he was hurled into the prison and grimaced as the door was slammed shut with a loud clattering bang as the metal locks connected.

Legolas woke as water splashed against his hot flushed cheeks, feeling so cool and refreshing. He blinked stupidly and scanned the room for the cause of the splash. Nothing had fallen from the decaying ceiling, nothing from the barred door, nothing had collapsed in from the walls. Strangely everything seemed normal, but then his eyes fell upon a form lying half-submerged in the water.

His heart nearly stopped as he came to the sudden insight that the limp, cold, forlorn, blood leaking form was Aragorn. The man looked like he was nearly dead and Legolas watched as the water around the shirtless ranger was turned a disturbing sanguine color as his wounds bled freely in the filth of the mucky water.

"Estel," Legolas half spoke half croaked. He raised his head slowly from it rested on his restrained arm. He hadn't honestly thought that they would bring his friend back this soon. He kenw that chances were they were going to pay dearly for that later but he was more than willing if it mean ta few moments of 'happiness' with some one who could give him enough comfort to carry one for just a little longer.

Aragorn opened his eyes slowly and gave a feverish smile that was so hollow it made Legolas feel empty. "Hello mellon nin," he breathed around his pain. "You shouldn't have came for me…s-stupid."

Legolas frowned and rolled his eyes as he hung from his arm, "well if that I wouldn't have been captured, then everything would have been alright!" rationalized the Elf as he dangled in misery. Not coming back for Aragorn was hardly an option that he was willing to even glance at and dismiss.

Aragorn raised himself slowly and fell down into the water again in his weakness. His dislocated shoulder fell beneath him and shot pain through his collarbone and chest. Legolas narrowed his eyes and said in a surprised cry, "Valar, Thorongil! You are practically dismembered!"

"No…I am-"

"You are not 'fine' or even close to being 'fit', Thorongil!" seethed Legolas in a low whisper. He winced and his feet jerked as a pain spasm blinded him and he felt for a second like his heart would stop beating. But no, life was too unfair for that to happen yet. He would have to be tortured some more first.

"No…" began Aragorn but he never finished.

Legolas reached up with his free hand and gripped the chain tightly as he tried to pull himself up and relieve the torturous pressure on his wrist. As a little pressure was removed from his arm and the cuff lifted slightly, hot blood ran from beneath it, trickling down Legolas' bare arm.

"Ranger…" he breathed in a gasp, "you are NOT fine!" His grip slipped and he banged against the manacle with a cry that he wished to goodness he had suppressed. But he was wise enough to know it was no use crying over what was over and done and plan foolish when it was something that trivial. Shuddering, the blonde prince said under his breath in a gasp, "and apparently, neither am I."

He closed his eyes for a moment, gathering his strength and willing his heart to calm down to a normal beat.

Aragorn finally forced his body to comply with his commands and he rose up to his knees, looking at the water that dripped from his clothes. As he looked at Legolas he felt a sickening lump squeezing his throat shut and cutting off the cry of horror and anger at his friend's treatment. He could not believe men were so cruel even though he was right here, watching it. It was disquieting and he forced the thought form his mind…or tried to.

Legolas was too weary to hold his head up and he let it fall against his arm while he was in the company of his friend. He suddenly felt extremely thirsty and looking at nothing but water was torturous in and of itself. Well, not exactly, this water wasn't unerringly good and clean looking. It had blood, he noticed, lots of bright red blood mingled in its murkiness. His lips were cracked and parched with blood doting them, for his body had lost a lot of water content during his cold sweats that he was still experiencing. His feet beat the air again as they jerked of their own will.

Aragorn crawled through the two-inch water towards his friend and as he got closer and saw the bruises all over Legolas cheeks he was immediately made painfully aware of the torture his Legolas had been placed under. He saw the muscles of Legolas' arm straining, as they were wretched taut by Legolas' own weight.

"Eru, my friend," breathed Aragorn as his eyes rested on all the fresh bruises and blood on Legolas' body. As the Elf spun slowly on the chain, he saw the cuts cruelly carved into his back some deep and some shallow, all bleeding. Aragorn shuddered in abhorrence at the wounds.

He didn't even realize Legolas was looking at him and the strange way he carried on arm, as though the slightest jolt was a severe torment. Legolas was sure it was a torment, as was everything else they were going through at the moment. He saw the javelin wound in Aragorn's other shoulder, ripped and looking as though it had been probed with a hot knife, which he was sure that it probably had. But he saw some other strange lacerations on his friend's body of which he could not identify.

It disturbed him to see the deep purple welts on Aragorn and some of the cuts that marked up the clammy chest of his friend. Knowing more than something about his friend's pain and what he had truly gone through it only served to make him further sympathize with his friend. The water had cleared the blood away and he saw them clearly, obviously made by the metal strips of the club. Memories of his own horrible pain seemed not so distant and he felt his stomach muscles tighten ever so slightly even as he worked on calming them. It made his head hurt even more to know that Aragorn was going through the exact same thing at that very moment and he closed his eyes in stabbing despair.

The water had strangely refreshed Aragorn and cleared his thoughts, exactly the opposite effect he had though the frigid liquid would have. As he looked at Legolas he suddenly became extremely scared as the Elf's head lolled sideways and his body stopped spasming. He nearly shouted Legolas' name but remembered that was one of the things he must never utter here. Instead he felt his heart accelerate his breathing hitch. "Don't leave me," he begged in a breath as he was unable to say another word without giving Legolas up.

He crawled over, holding his limp and immovable arm to his side. Aragorn struggled to rise, but he was too weak and trembling, he sank beneath his bleeding friend and looked at his numb fingers of his dislocated arm with despair. He wished he felt numb, but he felt nothing but hurt and doubt inside. He wished he could do anything but he was helpless, a feeling he had not come across in quite some time, and he didn't think he wanted to get used to it anytime soon.

Thunder rumbled outside and it seemed to shake the palace down to the roots where they were placed in cold darkness. Aragorn didn't notice and in fact, even if he had, he wouldn't have cared. His body was breaking and as he watched his friend begin to crumble and struggle to live and hold strong his spirit was breaking too. But there was enough fire, the fire to want to live and bring Legolas him, that kept him alive.

**TBC…Well here was your angsty chapter six. Hope it was nice and juicy. Please review, we look forward to hearing from you. Your opinions are very much enjoyed and appreciated. :) **


	7. You Never Know

**_CHAPTER SEVEN_**

You Never Know…

It was bleak, very bleak even as birds sang freely and some minute rays of glistening sunlight fell to the forest floor. Thranduil noted with depression how Legolas would have very much enjoyed a day like today, with its warmth and visiting sunlight. Legolas always liked the sunlight more than the strange darkness of Mirkwood's forest. He supposed that was one of the reasons that he always was coming and going and if he was there, he had to be with friends or in trees where the sun's light could leak in and penetrate the vast dimness. Legolas missed what Mirkwood had been before she fell.

Thranduil watched as a leaf turned golden and reminded him of seeing Legolas' hair caught up in a ray of sunshine. Having not heard from Legolas in two years had worn on the Elvenking's bearing. Worn on it much indeed, more than he liked to readily admit to anyone, especially himself.

He no longer looked as proud and his eyes were almost always narrowed and more often closed now days. He didn't throw many feasts anymore and he let Rothinzil and Celebalda deal with the affairs of his people. It was nearly safe to say he was no longer governing the Elves and that Rothinzil was acting as the royal personage. But no one would go so far as to say that, especially while Thranduil was in ear shot. It was not that they feared he would object, they feared he would agree and his spirit would be damaged some more. They didn't want to lose their king, after all, with Dol Guldur growing into ever more of a menace to them and their way of life.

Thranduil stopped walking on his well-worn forest trail and stood for a moment, lost in memory. He sighed quietly and smiled knowing that whatever happened his son would be well. Legolas always managed to pull himself out of trouble. Of course he was convinced the trouble was caused by the ranger that his son often accompanied to the dangerous places the man was bound to go. He had taken counsel with Elrond once or twice but they both had come to the same aggravating conclusion: there was no way to stop the friends from being together.

Thranduil had tried everything, even commanding Legolas to stay, which Legolas would, but not for long. He knew that in a way Legolas was becoming old enough that he could take care of himself, but he still considered Legolas a child in his heart, though he was nearly an age old. However, he was king here and that meant that Legolas would have to obey him whether he was his father or not and that was where the problem came in. Legolas would not simply comply with what he felt to be very rash orders that were more or less meaningless and had no sway over his train of thought other than driving him away.

Shaking his head, he decided not to think about Legolas' disobedience. It was depressing and it hurt deeply, more deeply than he would readily admit. It was hard to think that the only rebel he had in his kingdom was in fact a member of his house hold, his own son, his own flesh and blood!

He didn't like to think that perhaps the reason Legolas had become so hard headed and strong in foolish ideas was his fault. But he couldn't help but turn the idea over in his head every now and then. It was impossible to completely push aside, he realized with a stab of disappointment and slight aggravation.

Thranduil began to explore the notion that he had driven Legolas from home and actually began to wonder what his son was doing at this very moment. Perhaps he wasn't that far away. But having not heard from the blonde prince in two years was a little disturbing and nearly alarming. He must not lie to himself; it was alarming and actually frightening. Legolas usually came back after a few weeks or even maybe two months. He would never deny him word like this unless he was really gone. Unless he had been killed.

Thranduil just could not bear the thought that his new regulations on Legolas' life had driven his own son into self-appointed exile. He was not going to even regard that thought, he promised himself. But it was a fruitless promise. Being Legolas' father, his son was all he thought about and right now his son was all that haunted his dreams and thoughts.

When Legolas came back, he thought wryly, he would hug him and tell him how much he loved him first and then after that he would lock him in his room until the next millennia. Frowning, he wondered what escape his son would manage to conjure up this time. He usually came up with the most devious, reckless, spurious, exasperating and clever escapes ad pulled them off before he could be found out and stopped.

Perhaps the dungeons would be a better place to keep his son. He could make it into a comfortable room and still keep Legolas chained to the wall. Thranduil smiled at the thought of Legolas giving him his -you-have-warranted-death-by-this glare. Legolas hadn't used that look in a long time, at least not directed at him. The last person he ever saw Legolas cast that glare at was that young ranger and that was after the man had cut a piece of Legolas' hair as the prince slept to let a bird weave it into her nest. He remembered his son had been livid while the rest of the palace, including him, went up into roaring laughter.

It was also very odd that ever since the humiliation of their prince, Aragorn had been more accepted by the Wood-Elves. Normally the price for the humiliation of a Firstborn was high to pay, but this time everyone felt that it was called for.

The brief memory of the joy that had been faded and Thranduil felt sorrow fall over his heart once more as he realized he may never see Legolas laugh, lose his temper or even come back in need of stitches again. And realizing that he missed his son so much he would welcome him with lacerations in dire need of stitches, the blonde Elvenking suddenly understood just how much he wished he had back. It was true: you never know what you've got until it's gone.

O0O0O0O0O

Helluin walked the cave like corridors of the Palace of the Wood Elves. Her steps were soft and nearly Elf-like. Her long red hair was loose and fell about her graceful shoulders in lengthy auburn tresses that swished when she walked. Her blue eyes were glittering with a youthful appearance though she was close to forty. Even though she was mortal her life among the Eldar had kept her looking slightly younger than she was. It was a phenomenon that really wasn't to be expected, but the fact that it had happened wasn't a bad thing at all, so she really couldn't complain all that easily.

Straightening out a wrinkle in her dress's skirt, she stopped and stared mournfully out of a deep-set window that she honestly had no idea why it was called a 'window' considering how small and dark it was by the time you reached the glass part of it so far back was it set. She loved being with the Elves and her dear Rothinzil but she missed her own people greatly-more than she had originally thought were ever vaguely possible. She felt like time didn't move here and that she was passing everything by. Everything was always the same and she needed a change. Her life was short and she felt she needed to be moving on.

A pair of hands on her shoulders made her spin around to meet the calm and amused eyes of Roth as he smiled at her with the same sweet and sloppy grin he had possessed for practically forever. "You always have to sneak up on me, don't you?" she asked curtly as he pulled her close into a warm hug.

He laughed softly and chided in a tease, "no. You just need to be more alert when you live with Wood-Elves, especially when one of them is Legolas."

She reached up and touched his pointed ear, laughing when he jerked back. He was still ticklish behind his ears, just as she had found out years ago. Pulling away she asked quietly referring to their twin children, "where are Telperion and Ilwë?"

Rothinzil snorted softly at the mention of his daughter and son and muttered, "Telperion is with the other maidens working on her embroidery and Ilwë is out working on his archery." He smiled brightly and said, "you know exactly how he, he is just like Uncle Legolas, he will not show up until dinner. I think he spent too much of his toddler years trailing that spoiled prince around."

He thought of his children happily. Ilwë looked like a mirror image of himself only he was very graceful like his mother and loved to be out in the woods, practicing archery, which was his favorite weapon.

Telperion was his lovely daughter with his hair and her mother's crystalline eyes whose idea of a good time was teasing her brother (using tactics taught to her by Elladan and Elrohir when they visited) to no end and weaving enchanting tapestries of old tales that she loved to hear again and again. And she did have a talent for that sort of work. Her fingers were long and her hands were strong but delicate coupled her hand eye coordination that was unsurpassable. She had never tried archery but he guessed that she wouldn't be half-bad at it.

Both had pointy ears and looked Elven but had not decided yet to be counted among the Eldar or Edain.

Helluin looked out the window and Rothinzil came up behind her. Both stared out of it thoughtfully. "Rothinzil, have you ever thought of going back?" she asked calmly.

Rothinzil frowned and inquired in astonishment, "do you want to? It is beautiful here and safe from disease and most hardships. My family is here," he added. "I could never leave Legolas." But he knew that Legolas was gone, he hadn't left Legolas, Legolas had left him. But certainly his best friend and near brother had not left him on purpose? Legolas would never leave him or his father for ever would he?

She turned around slowly and looked at him, "but I feel trapped. I see everything staying the same while I change." She watched a torn look came into her husband's hazel eyes.

Rothinzil looked the polished stone floor they stood on and said, "I can't leave, not even for you. I want our children to grow up here, I want to die here." The Elf's eyes narrowed and he added, "you really can't ever realize what you have until it is gone."

Helluin knew that he referred to his immortality that he had given up to die with her. There wasn't a day that went by where she didn't regret forcing him to make such a hard decision and in the end allowing him to choose death over life. His face was still looking very young, like he was in his early twenties. Even though he was mortal now, he still didn't appear to age and was as childish and Elf-like as ever.

"I am sorry, Roth, so sorry," she murmured as he looked out the window serenely.

"For what?" he asked sharply, feeling more than a bit disgruntled at her words. "You did nothing wrong. Now," he changed the subject. "I have to go abroad tonight with Celebalda and Caranfëa along the borders near Dol Guldur."

"Are you bringing Ilwë along like you promised?" she asked tersely, staring him in the eye with a -don't you-dare-back-out look that made him feel rather uncomfortable. Actually now that he thought about it, he felt more threatened than anything else, which was foolish.

He shook his head in answer and said, "It is too dangerous. I know what it is like to get captured by orcs." Swallowing hard at old memories he said, "I would not place our son in that sort of danger." The Elf's face looked unmistakably troubled and actually could be called miserable. "Ilwë is an Elf, do you know what they would do to him? And he is so young."

Roth's eyes plead for understanding. He could not bear to let his son be captured by one of the most horrible things to walk the face of the earth. Orcs along Dol Guldur's borders did not kill unless they had to; they captured and tormented for information. An Elf had already been lost to them this week, which meant that they were active and certainly getting bolder. It was no place for an Elfling hardly trained.

"I know you wouldn't let anything happen to him," Helluin encouraged confidently. She leaned against Rothinzil who pulled away.

"He is only twenty years old! For an Elf that is young, very young. I am young for an Elf!" he confirmed as he back-stepped towards the door out of the corridor, nearly tripping in the process. Time had made no improvements, however so miniscule, on his balancing skills. The Elf inclined his head slightly, his dark hair sliding over his shoulder and covering a pointy ear. "Do you not understand? I will make sure he is not on those borders until he is one hundred at least. Preferably four hundred to five hundred."

"Rothinzil, he doesn't even know if he is mortal or immortal yet! How can you say that? You aren't going to go scout tonight, just sit in a tree and watch for patrols of orcs that come too close. Why can't you simply take him with you?" she argued with her temper beginning to rise and her eyes turning into narrow slits of flame.

She was finding it impossible to believe that she didn't understand. This was her husband, this was her son they were talking about and if she didn't know them both by now she had to question her intelligence. Roth was being far more difficult than need be and she was ready to truly lose her temper, which wasn't something she particularly wanted to do.

A fairly accurate description of her was the look of a dragon before it spat fire, mused Rothinzil. He felt his anxiety and anger spiking and told himself that he had to stop coming up with these depressing comparisons or he would turnout just like Legolas or Celebalda. Not that he didn't admire his superiors but there was the slight inclination to be a bit wary of their…bizarre habits.

"Dearest…" he began but he stopped and sighed in despair. He was losing the argument. But she just simply did not understand the precarious situation Ilwë would be placed in. He finally snapped, "I have already lost Legolas! I have already lost another dear friend of mine that you only had the privilege to meet once! I can not; I will not lose my son!"

"You do not know Legolas won't be coming back!" she seethed, becoming angrier by the minute.

"You do not know him and Estel the way I do! They could be in the Nath of Lothlorien (the most peaceful place in Middle-Earth) and still manage to find someone who hates them and is out for blood, be killed and then brought back to life by Galadriel herself only to be captured and tortured within an inch of their lives by some insane something that is out for their blood. All that in the time frame of half an hour or less!" Rothinzil shook his head. "We haven't heard from Legolas in two years, if anything he would have written a letter to me."

"Unless he is someplace where he can't write letters," Helluin reasoned with the irate Elf before her.

She had never seen Rothinzil angry before save once but since Legolas had run away without even saying farewell to him he had been depressed and his laugh was seldom heard in the forest. She knew as well he was feeling the weight of the world, as he never had before, though she could not possibly hope to understand it. It was burden they could not share.

"My point exactly."

Rothinzil sighed and rubbed his temples unconsciously with his fingers as he felt a tension headache pressing its painful way into his awareness. He felt like he had lost everything while he had gained the world. For the first time he thought that he was beginning to understand what a bird felt with a broken wing. It was a painful feeling even though it certainly wasn't physical.

He wondered for a moment what he would look like with wings and one being broken at that. But quickly cast the thought aside as he didn't really think he had the time to think of such things at the moment.

The Elf missed the company of his prince that was like an older brother to him and without him he felt alone even though he had everything he had ever wanted: a family and a place to belong.

Helluin relaxed and patted her husband's back comfortingly. "I will get some tea made for you and you can rest." She pulled his long and dark hair away from his paled face. He looked at her with his hazel eyes looking once like a fawn, a façade that she loved when he let it show through. She knew he was still strong as steel and wiser than many she had met.

"No, I will be fine. I simply need to clear my head," said the dark-haired Wood-Elf as he forced a shaky smile to pull at his lips' corners.

Helliun looked grimly at her Elven husband before she argued, "you need tea. Stop by the healing ward later and get some."

"Helluin-" Roth started before he was cut off by one of Helluin's long slender fingers pressing against his lips.

"Shhhhh…" she chided in a soft voice as she pulled him close and looked into his eyes with a dreamy gaze. His face turned back to a warm radiance and he pulled her close, pressing his lips to hers in a quick kiss.

She took him by the hand and said in a soft commanding voice, "come with me." Roth didn't argue with her. After all, besides being his wife, she was healer and was very capable of making his life miserable if she so chose.

O0O0O0O0O

Legolas opened his eyes and bit back a quick yelp of pain as consciousness returned. He looked blearily around the small dingy dungeon that was he and Estel's luck of having been placed in and noticed that everything lay in shadows or was indistinct. The prince felt rather disoriented but he had enough of his wits left unmuddled to know that this reprieve they were being given was only temporary. Uncomforting, that's what that bit of knowledge is, he told himself.

He looked beneath his feet and saw Aragorn hunched over his knees in the shallow water. The Elf whispered hoarsely, "Thorongil…" Legolas felt slightly annoyed at the weakness of his own voice. He was prince it was supposed to be commanding, calm…dignified if not without some sort of devious ring to it. Instead it sounded broken.

Aragorn became aware of Legolas' voice and he lifted his head slowly so as not to set off the throbbing headache had only just now managed to rid himself of. He smiled thinly, "I wondered if they had gone too far with you my friend."

The ranger inclined his head minutely and glanced up at the Elf who gave a thin smile back, trying to ignore the waves of pure anguish through his arm and the thunder he realized was rumbling overhead. "They don't want us dead, Estel. For what comfort that is," he muttered.

Aragorn noticed how Legolas strained against the bond he swung from and he winced openly. "Stand on my back, mellon nin." He doubted that Legolas would actually do such a thing, but it was worth a try anyway. Well…maybe…

Legolas glanced down with a small frown of wrath and snapped contemptuously, "and cause you more pain? I think not." To Legolas' way of thinking at the moment it was completely and unchangeably out of the question. He honestly could not believe that Aragorn had dared to ask such a dumb question. His mind was obviously fogged and badly so. Unless, no wait, this sort of selfless stupidity was a regular occurrence in this type situation. Typical, Legolas told himself mentally.

"You stubborn Wood-Elf!" growled Aragorn sternly. "Just do it or I will force you to!" he threatened darkly. He got on his hands and knees and began to crawl into position beneath Legolas' booted feet.

"Strider!" said Legolas, forgetting to use Aragorn's current alias. "You are impossible. But I will not stand on your damaged back and cause you further injury." He narrowed his eyes and stared curiously at the ranger's oddly placed shoulder. "You dislocated your shoulder!" he accused in a hiss.

"No, Sarchel did," corrected Aragorn grumpily. He was not in the disposition to argue with Legolas whom he knew was about as stubborn as a literally stupid mule. He shrugged and said, "Fine. If you do not want to stand on my back and ease your pain that is causing your body to twitch and shudder, then don't."

Legolas chuckled wryly and said in a sneer that Aragorn would have thought looked comical had he not known Legolas to be in complete agony, "either way, it is dislocated and you are too obstinate to do anything about it." He muttered under his breath, "stubborn human. Typical."

"Stupid Wood-Elf," rebutted Aragorn a bit savagely. He watched as Legolas used his spare hand to grasp the chain and pull himself up to ease the pressure on his wrist. Legolas had been doing this off and on before he went unconscious from the pain it caused when he lost his grip and jerked back down and it didn't make Aragorn sad, it infuriated him to know that his friend was in such pain. And his anger was not entirely directed at his enemies either, he was the one who had allowed Legolas to follow him.

He should have forced Legolas to home for however much good that would have done. Legolas was every bit as stubborn as he was if not more so and the more you pestered him about doing something, the more he resisted. Legolas was also annoying in the sense he had an impossible way of being able to completely ignore you if he didn't want to hear what you had to say. Something that the ranger guessed he had learned early in life, a result of living with constantly chattering Wood-Elves and being a Wood-Elf himself. Of course that really didn't make too much sense, but when you actually thought about it you could vaguely understand it.

Legolas began to shake and his breathing accelerated as he felt his meager grip on the links slipping slowly free. Anticipating the pain he was about to experience, Legolas bit his lower lip silently as he felt his last bit of strength that was too weak to hold on for long give.

The fall was brief but the pain lasted longer. Looking up at the ceiling as he tried to hold his composure after falling and jerking against the bond, Legolas realized what a decayed place they were in. In the light of the spluttering torches that gave the room a horrid and suffocating smell he saw he beams above were fallen into complete disrepair. Particularly the one his chain was attached to.

Spiders had made their numerous sticky homes above. Of course living with much larger, crueler and insidious relatives of these little beasts gave him the understanding that these infinitesimal things were more or less harmless. He was hardly frightened of them. Though that didn't mean that he didn't find them to be totally disgusting.

Swallowing hard, the Elf looked back down at Aragorn, who was glaring up at him with a look that reminded him all too much like one he imagined Elrond would give in this sort of situation. And the unbelievable thing was that Aragorn was not one of Elrond's sons by birth. If one saw the looks they used he would think that Aragorn was the son of Celebrian for certain.

Legolas smiled at the thought and then he catechized, "would you please stop giving me that you-are-a-stubborn-idiot glare…I am going through enough at the moment." It was a rough jest, but anyone else who heard it wouldn't understand unless Aragorn turned his nearly evil glare upon them.

"Would you rather I give you the you-are-incredibly-annoying-and-will-pay-later stare?" inquired the ranger as to Legolas preference. He watched Legolas's dimmed blue eyes darken further in a scathing glare of his own that made his face strongly resemble a sky before a storm broke. Aragorn started inside at the sharp resemblance between Legolas and Thranduil, though he knew he should not have been surprised.

"Don't push your luck ranger," warned Legolas in a flat voice while he worked on keeping his muscles under control. He was getting alarmed at how they continually wanted to jerk and convulse. As a matter of fact, stark fear was beginning to inch its way into his heart, like a vine slowly choking a tree.

"Too bad you can't get down, I might get scared," teased the human, trying to make his friend laugh.

Legolas didn't laugh, he just muttered hazily around a set of grit teeth, "wait and see you filthy human." Leaning his head on his arm and letting his hair fall over his face, the Elf wheezed and muttered, "if someone offered to kill me, I think, I _might_ take them up on it."

His tone was almost sarcastic but more corrosive, determined Aragorn as he looked upon his dangling friend, watching him draw ragged breaths that were a torment.

He was in great pain himself but surprisingly the water of the cell had helped revive him. Something which he was still trying to figure out. But Legolas was flushed from fever and his wounds were still blood covered. His battered chest was being stretched as well as his arm and Aragorn wouldn't be surprised if the prince ended up dislocating his own as well.

"I really should have forced you to go home," Aragorn murmured remorsefully as he looked sorrowfully at the water surrounding him.

"Are you really going to go on another guilt trip?" asked Legolas, raising a brow behind his curtain of lose blonde hair. His voice was barely audible. "You know as well as do I that anything and everything you say concerning why this is all your fault is mostly all figments of your over-whelmed imagination."

"Legolas, you do not understand…"

"Excuse me?" asked the prince with some heat. "Human, if you think you could have run me off and continued on your own, you are out of your mind. And, if I wanted to, I could follow you without you so much as guessing I was anywhere nearby. Don't flatter yourself."

Aragorn shook his head and continued most adamantly as he struggled to stand, "Elf, you have to be the most stubborn creature Illuvater ever created!" He mumbled darkly, "you get it from your father."

Legolas was about to make a sharp remark back but he thought better of it. Glancing with repulsion at the slimly, filthy, disgusting, unappetizing, cold, dark and foreboding wall, The blonde Elf wrinkled his nose and said in abomination, "you would have thought they could give us better lodgings!"

Aragorn snorted and accused grimly, "you are changing the subject mellon in."

Legolas raised both of his eyebrows and smiled. Slightly inclining his head to the right he said sardonically, "and I was working so hard to hide that fact." He then stuck his nose up and mumbled in mock pride, "but I have my reasons. The fact is that trying to make you understand you are wrong about anything is like trying to tell a blind mule that it's about to walk off a cliff!"

"But you can't speak mule."

"My point exactly."

Aragorn glared, "that was harsh, Greenleaf, very harsh."

"And well earned." Legolas' answer was generally to be expected but it still got on Aragorn's nerves just a little.

Then an eerie silence fell between them and both looked at the iron barred door with small frowns on their faces.

**TBC…Not too much in this chapter we suppose, but you guys can't have everything after all. Please review. You guys were wonderful, really. Those were all so great. Thanks for every single one of them. **


	8. What You've Got Until It's Gone

_**CHAPTER EIGHT**_

What You've Got Until It's Gone

If there was a more perfect day in the world called Middle- Earth, he had yet to find it. The sun shown lazily down upon his dark head, filtering down through the leaves in little flecks of yellow mingled with a dim orange. A gentle and totally ominous free breeze rippled through the mild air in a peaceful way. Rolling over onto his back as he lay beneath the shadow of a large elm tree, Elladan narrowed his grey eyes to scan the green leaves above.

In spite of all the serenity of the place he was in, Elladan Peredhil felt oddly restless. It had been a full two years since they had even seen Estel and just as long since they had heard from him. His brother was getting older, so he knew that chances were he was capable of looking after himself, for the most part. But every now and then some part of him gave the Elven twin a sharp reminder that he was still needed by his human brother. Of course, he thought with a weary sigh, Aragorn would tell him he was simply being paranoid and needed to relax.

Elrohir could be a little more understanding to the ranger, but he too felt the obligation of an older brother to the human that could not be shaken off no matter how hard he tried.

Elladan turned his head and looked sharply at the said Elrohir, who was sitting with his back to the tree beside him, his eyes closed over as he dozed lightly. "Elrohir?" questioned the elder twin impassively. He knitted his brows and blinked as sunlight shone bright on his fair features as the wind shifted some leaves free of its rays' path. "Elrohir!" he nearly shouted, not wanting to break the peacefulness of the moment but feeling he had no other choice.

The younger twin didn't even open his eyes and mumbled lazily, "what?"

"Do you ever wonder about Estel? It's been two years. You know," reminded Elladan with a small frown of displeasure at the thought. He sat up and asked firmly, "Are you even listening to me? Elrohir!"

The younger twin muttered back, "Yes, yes. You are obnoxious enough to make the dead listen to you!" His voce sounded annoyed and Elladan shot a scathing glare at his younger brother.

"Very funny," he growled back tensely. "Can't you be serious? I am!"

Opening one eye, Elrohir, son of Elrond, gave Elladan and incredulous look before opening both of his silver orbs and allowed reluctantly, "Very well, brother. But you woke me from one of the most peaceful naps I have had in a long time."

Elladan's glare didn't relent and Elrohir shifted uncomfortable before his elder brother finally began to speak. "Estel hasn't been seen in two years! He usually sends us word."

"He usually doesn't go so far South either," reminded Elrohir quietly. He sat up straight and yawned before saying, "he probably is too far away to send word that would reach us before it is far out dated."

"Do you think I do not know that?" inquired Elladan in edginess. "But you at least think he could have let father know he was alive," reasoned the elder twin, obviously slightly angry at the absent human.

Elrohir knew his twin's frustration came not out of literal anger, but out of fear. He argued back in Estel's defense, "We don't always send word."

"_You_ don't always send word," retorted Elladan as he started to stand up. The dark-haired Elf felt weaker, most likely from his attempted nap that he was a bit envious of Elrohir for. In a minute bit of disappointment and annoyance, the Elf sank back to the ground. "I will bet anything he got that horrible habit from you, Elrohir!" accused Elladan flatly. He stared darkly and forbiddingly at his younger sibling who raised his hands in a miniscule attempt to ward off his brother's oncoming wrath.

"Surly not I," argued Elrohir. "Estel is too stubborn to do anything I advised (or anyone else) and in the first place, Elladan Peredhil, I would never advise such a thoughtless deed!" Elladan could feel the rising anger begin to push its way into Elrohir's usually calm and totally impassive temperament.

Elladan backed off abruptly and then mumbled, "This is the meanest thing Estel has ever done." Even if he didn't do it on purpose, thought the dark-haired Elf to himself nebulously as he glared daggers at the new spring grass.

Elrohir watched his brother thoughtfully and then laid back against the tree to continue his rest. Aragorn was always fine in the end, it was in-between time that worried him. The beginning usually worked out reasonably well and the end was never as bad as it could be but in-between Estel managed to find the most alarming sort of mischief he thought a young human could find. Estel had barely lived in the Middle Earth as far as Elven years went and yet he had created more enemies than one could ever imagine he would find in that short amount of time.

There had to be some sort of an award for such a high and unbroken record, thought the younger brother wryly. After all, he and Elladan and lived more than twice as long and not found a fourth of as many enemies. But then again, most of the enemies they would find were not immortal and would therefore die. But Legolas was the exception to the rule as he was to most things.

That prince had found ways to make more enemies than any Elf Elrohir had ever heard of or known, except maybe Fëanor and/or his sons. But Legolas was also just a very odd Elf, he reasoned as he began to doze off once more, feeling the warmth of the sun on his face lulling him into a wonderful little reverie.

It seemed he had hardly closed his eyes for more than a few seconds when an annoying and yet calm voice chided, "you have both been sleeping here the majority of the day, are you going to be here forever?"

"Go away, Glorfindel," Elladan muttered as he continued his spar of glares with the innocent spring grass. As far as he was concerned at the moment, it was deviously innocent looking.

"I think that I should take you with me," mused the Gondolin Elf as he walked smoothly up and stood before the elder twin before casting an amused look towards Elrohir with his deep blue eyes. "You probably have forgotten how to use some muscles; you have been lazing around Rivendell long enough."

Elladan's dark head snapped up as he took obvious interest to what Glorfindel was saying. "Pardon?" He looked up at the interested face of the Balrog-Slayer, who smiled back dryly.

"You heard me," Glorfindel said with a small incline of his head, allowing his golden hair to slide over his shoulders. "I am going to Lorien." He shook his head. "I would expect such adventurous young Elves to want to come along."

"Adventurous? Young? We don't need your pity, Lord Glorfindel!" Elladan warded off with annoyance. If it had been the perfect day a little while ago, it certainly was anything but now. "And anyway," reproached Elladan carelessly. "You should know by your age to always expect the unexpected."

He then remembered an earlier remark of Glorfindel's and mumbled with some heat, "We are not lazy."

The golden haired Elf merely arched a brow in a way that showed he was beyond incredulous about that particular statement. Choosing not to comment on it, the older Elf said, "well if you don't need my pity, then there is no need for you to come is there?"

He knew exactly what he was doing and he knew exactly what Elladan and Elrohir had been looking for. They had wanted to get out of Rivendell for a long time and all the inhabitants were getting quite annoyed by the pacing and unrest of the identical brothers. Glorfindel smiled with self-importance as he realized what a favor he was doing the local community.

"We will come," allowed Elladan as he looked up at the Elf-lord, fighting off the urge to jump up and start to follow. After all he was not a puppy or a little Elfling and that would look so foolish and be so humiliating that he would rather die. "Of course, it is because one should not travel alone."

"Are you questioning my capabilities to protect myself?" asked Glorfindel with narrowed eyes and a small frown pulling at his lips.

"Of course not," said Elrohir lightly. "We just think that it is unfit for one of such obvious importance to travel alone. There are kidnappers out there in that wide world."

Glorfindel scowled darkly at the younger twin and said tensely, "your concern is touching, Elrohir. I know you must have seen all there is to know of that 'wide world'."

Elrohir smiled and opened his eyes as he said quite seriously, "I haven't yet, but I am working on it."

Glorfindel shifted his calculating glare down at Elladan and said, "I will feel rather protected knowing that if there is any danger, you will be the ones to find it first and all the orcs within a ten mile radius will run at the sound of your insufferable voices far across the mountains."

"Very amusing, Glorfindel! You insult Lord Elrond Peredhil when you say that," apprised Elladan while fighting an uphill battle to keep a lurking smile suppressed.

"I am well aware of that, Young One," assured Glorfindel as he chuckled to himself more than anyone else.

Elrohir and Elladan exchanged amused looks and Elrohir said with an apathetic sigh, "your funeral."

Elladan peculiarly at a book held in Glorfindel's hand -almost behind his back. "Curious," he said in an inquisitive voice. "That reminds me sharply of one of Erestor's books." He glanced up at Glorfindel's face with narrowed eyes, as the Gondolin Elf looked shocked at the accusation.

"I am merely borrowing it," stated the golden-haired Elf-lord nonchalantly.

"Of course," stated Elladan as he stood up and gave Elrohir a hand up as well. "I think we have to be someplace." Elrohir grinned and then nodded enthusiastically, reminding Glorfindel sharply of a child trying to please a parent or a young warrior Elf trying to please his captain.

"Yes. I believe father wanted to talk to us about Estel and preparations for his homecoming," the younger twin stated off the top of his head. He knew Glorfindel would be hardly fooled, but it was better than nothing.

"You mean the stocking of the Healing Ward, especially in the department of stitches and sedative herbs?" asked Glorfindel while pushing a laugh down his throat and trying his best not to choke on it. After killing and being killed by a Balrog, choking to death on a laugh sounded undignified indeed.

"Something to that effect," replied Elladan curtly. With a slight tilt of his head towards the Last Homely House he said to his identical brother next to him, "Elrohir, we wouldn't want to keep Ada waiting."

"Admit it," said Glorfindel with a smirk. "You are terrified, absolutely petrified, that Erestor will catch you with me while I have the book and make corpses of you both." His scrutinizing gaze went from one to the other of the twin's uneasy faces.

"Well he doesn't exactly take kindly to thievery and embezzlement anyway. If it is a piece of his property, however trivial, he has been known to seek rather let us say…harsh retribution." Elladan looked sidelong at Elrohir with a slow grin and saw that his brother was losing a struggle to remain calm and not burst out in laughter at Glorfindel's plight. It had been long since Glorfindel had dared to tease Erestor or provoke him anyway what so ever. This was refreshing, if nothing else.

"So you would leave me to face his unrelenting wrath by myself?" questioned the golden-haired Elf as he stared at the brothers.

"Incase there is any doubt on your part," advised Elrohir. "I suggest you watch closely for that is exactly what we are about to do." They began to walk away and could have sworn they heard Glorfindel actually laughing behind them. Quickening their steps so as to put as much distance between themselves and the said Elf-lord in about as little time as possible, they came to the well-known conclusion that Glorfindel was psychotic.

O0O0O0O

The room was darkened and all the other Elves were out, merrymaking and things of the like, leaving their king to sit in dark though they had asked him if he would join them several times. The flames in the great fireplace were low as was Thranduil's mood. He watched them with morose vigilance, with his eyes half closed.

Sighing, the Sindarin ruler rose slowly and began to pace the room. If Legolas was here he knew that he wouldn't be feeling half so lonely. His son always managed to make things bit brighter. Perhaps it was his young spirit, or perhaps it was his love of life completely. The Elvenking could not say for certain.

Rubbing his temples unconsciously, the older Elf mumbled, "Legolas when will you stop being so stubborn and come home?" He knew that his son was headstrong enough to put a mule to shame, but he never imagined that they prince would take it thus far. It was more than alarming and he began to pace some more.

He was going to give that princling a piece of his mind when he got home. After he had hugged him to death of course and let him know how much he had missed him. But then Legolas was going to wish he had stayed home. The dungeons still sounded particularly appetizing to him but he wondered if Legolas would somehow manage to escape the same way those dwarves and that…hobbit -had.

A soft voice behind him inquired cautiously, "my lord?"

He turned around to see Rothinzil standing behind him, watching curiously. Forcing a grim smile that was about as hollow as an empty mug, the Elvenking asked, "Rothinzil, what brings you hither?"

"Which reason would you like first, my lord?" asked the dark-haired Wood-Elf with a small frown of obvious displeasure at finding his liege thus.

"There is more than one?" asked Legolas' father somewhat incredulously as he raised his brows. "Which ever you prefer," he decided with little thought.

"Well first of all everyone can hear you pacing and I am pretty sure that those working in the cellar are frightened that you will wear a hole in the floor," Rothinzil answered truthfully. All the inhabitance of Mirkwood had seen or heard their lord pacing and it was alarming not to mention annoying after some time. But they were too polite and sympathetic to mention it.

Thranduil gave the dark-haired Elf an inquisitive look before he asked, "Are you sure?" Sighing he expelled the breath slowly. "I shall have to remember that."

There were a few brief moments of silence in which Rothinzil listened to the pacing of his king without speaking.

Then the dark-haired warrior reluctantly broke it. "You are still pacing, my lord."

Thranduil halted abruptly and cleared his throat. "Sorry, my good Rothinzil. It's Legolas." The addressed Elf watched with some pain of his own as anguish and loss flickered across Thranduil's usually calm façade. It was very distressing and he certainly wished to see no more of it than he had to.

"I know, your highness," answered the captain quietly as he watched with dismay as Thranduil nearly started pacing again but stopped himself. He was soundless for a few minutes, save for the miniscule sounds of his breathing. "I was sent here by Celebalda to see if you are ready for us to go abroad."

"Of course, as soon as you are ready to depart sounds well to me," answered the elder Elf quietly. It almost sounded like he didn't care, but Rothinzil knew that was not true, it simply couldn't be. But his king had greater worries to be thinking about.

"Pardon me, my lord, but you worry far too much. Legolas is coming home. He is just being stubborn…again."

Rothinzil did his best to sound sympathetic, but he had the distinct feeling that he was failing miserably. The truth of the matter was that he was getting annoyed with his liege's dispirited demeanor. This feeling made him uncomfortable and he resisted the urge to stand on one foot like a nervous Elfling. Instead, he just shifted his eyes to study the stone floor intimately until he heard Thranduil start to speak once more.

"Rothinzil, you have known Legolas for years, but I am his father and I am telling you he is not going to come back this time if he continues to be as stubborn as I know he is," the Elvenking's voice was grim and hard.

_Speaking of stubbornness, _thought Rothinzil darkly. Outwardly he answered, "my lord, I do not think he would have stayed away this long on purpose, even to spite you (which he wouldn't do anyway)."

Thranduil was a wise Elf and needed less than half a second to realize exactly what his obviously uneasy captain was hinting at. "You think he is in trouble." It was a statement, not a question.

"He went out with Estel," reminded Rothinzil impassively as he looked Thranduil in the eye. Any other time Roth's words might have provoked a twisted jest, but this time they struck fear into both of the Elves' hearts.

Thranduil had suspected that Legolas had gotten more than he bargained for, but he had honestly hoped that for once Legolas had not managed to find the strangest and most difficult sort of trouble…again. He should have known that had been too much to hope for, but now that Legolas was solder, he seemed to have thought his son had grown out of that unfortunate and unhealthy habit. Obviously not. He had been naive to even begin to think in those terms.

Inwardly shaking his head, the king observed slowly as though he was reluctant to say what he had noticed a long time ago, "yes, that is true. Ever since that human and my son became friends there has been nothing but trouble it seems."

Rothinzil felt he immediate need to jump in as Estel's defense. After all, Aragorn had done it for him before and he knew how much Legolas valued that friendship. As much as he agreed with Thranduil's statement, he could not defend it with a clear conscience knowing Legolas would have fought to persuade his father the other way to the very end. "My lord, Legolas and Estel are the best friends that they could ever have."

He narrowed his eyes in alarmed concern and asked cautiously, "would you will that they give that up?"

"It depends," answered the Elvenking as he watched Rothinzil's expression carefully. "I would rather my son did not come home needing bandages and stitches every year or so. I am sure the healers agree with me."

Roth laughed slightly and said, "I bet they do, my lord. But their friendship does a lot of good as well. I have a better understanding of men than you do, with all due respect, and I think that their friendship is truly something magnificent."

"Rothinzil, I know what you are saying, for it has often crossed my mind," the Elf-lord spoke in a far away voice. "But I know as well that Legolas would become unmanageable if I denied him camaraderie with the ranger." A sparkle came into Thranduil's grey-blue eyes and Rothinzil didn't think he was far wrong when he thought he noticed a slight glimmer of near gratitude that Legolas had such friends.

"That he would be, my lord," allowed the dark-haired Elf calmly assenting with the allegation. Rothinzil inclined his head minutely and affirmed, "If the past is any guide then they will come out well in the end."

"If the past is any guide, then yes," replied Thranduil wryly as he tried not to smile. Two emotions were grappling in an amusing and hard struggle for dominance: mirth and anger. It was truly a bizarre combination to have at this time, he thought to himself, but nevertheless that was what was transpiring.

He noticed with spiking sympathy how Roth's fair face flickered with a slight bit of pain of loss and he asked obligingly, "Roth? Are you well?" He knew as well as did anyone that Rothinzil was now mortal and therefore not a one in the underground Elven palace was sure what he was now susceptible to.

"Perfectly," came the prompt answer.

It was a lie and what was more Rothinzil knew it, but he raised his head and squared his shoulders. Smiling a smile that seemed to stop before reaching his eyes he grimaced when Thranduil did not appear to be amused or fooled in the slightest.

"If you think you need to stay home, stay. There is plenty for you to do here," the blonde elder Elf supplied his younger warrior with a suitable alternative that sounded moderately appeasing.

"No, I am fine, my lord," argued Rothinzil firmly.

"Legolas' definition or your own?" asked Thranduil, raising an incredulous eyebrow.

"My own, rest assured," Rothinzil humored grimly. "I fear that if I linger here any longer though Celebalda will skin me alive. You know as well as I how he is very punctual."

Nodding the Elf-lord dismissed the dark-haired warrior with a warm warning, "you look after yourself Rothinzil. The orcs have grown much more bold and fierce as of late."

"I will my lord. Thank you," Rothinzil's response was smooth and sounded fair and noble as he gave a slight bow and turned to leave.

Thranduil watched the younger Elf's back with concern as he left and hoped with all he had that his young Elf who was like a second son to him did not fall prey to the cruel forces of Dol Guldur. If Rothinzil went, so would the last bit of his sanity and he knew the kingdom might very well go to shambles.

O0O0O0O0O

Darcíl felt his skin crawl at the content of what he was carrying and the cold blood that was drying on the soft, supple material. Looking at the tunics and cloaks, covering belts that were sure to be immediately recognized by an Elf that saw them, he wrinkled his nose in disgust.

He had been sent by Dorrag to go and fetch the garments from the dungeons and the torture chamber before they were destroyed by neglect. These tokens were needed as a means of persuasion concerning the will of the Elves of the blonde captive's realm. Darcíl doubted that they would help much. He didn't know Elves, but he sensed that they were not easily negotiated with and even less willing to agreeably surrender emissaries to a land they considered threatening or dangerous. They may be insane at times but he very much doubted that they were suicidal.

But it was the incredulousness of the Elves that was going to be their own undoing. Anyway, that was if his lord's plan went through without a hitch, which he doubted it would. Such things hardly ever did. And the more he thought about it, the more he thought he might have to hinder it.

That was not going to be from sympathy to the Elves. Never, he loathed them. He considered them to be annoying, stubborn and from experiences he had been unfortunate enough to encounter in battle, they were far too fast and skilled.

The only good reason he could find for hindering his lord would be difficult to explain. The fact was that Dorrag was trying to gain more power than he had and usurp it from his own father. Though this was not an uncommon occurrence in history, it was very dangerous and alarming.

If Dorrag was going to gain more followers and publicity than he already possessed by the death of the Elves then there was his problem. Darcíl knew that once the hostage Elves were put to death and the Firstborn broke their alliance with Gondor, the people would flock around Dorrag like flies gathering around honey. What they wouldn't realize until it was already too late was that the honey had a toxic taint to it. The people wouldn't know until after he had already usurped (with their help) the power from beneath his father's nose. If he pleased the people by making them feel safer and hanging the Elves, Dorrag would do it. He was the kind that gained power by any means necessary.

He was the kind of man that was dangerous and needed to die, Darcíl decided without too much thought. He was the kind of man that Darcíl hated with a passion. But at the moment he was no position to be questioning the authority of the madman he was forced to call 'lord'…at least not yet. But things might change. And then he would call the man an insane bovine to his face.

Pushing these rebellious thoughts from his head so as not to say something that might very well give Dorrag cause to make him literally lose his head, the dark-haired man quickly opened the door to the throne room before he had a chance to think things through logically. He was sure if he was given the time, he would see the uselessness of what he and his prince were working to achieve.

Prince Dorrag was walking by a window, scrutinizing his kingdom with cold calculating eyes. When he heard the heavy doors open he immediately spun around and said with expectation, "ah, Captain Darcíl! Do you have something to show me?"

The captain resisted the strong urge to grimace at the voice he loathed and said as politely as he found the heart to say, "indeed. The tunics, belts and sheathes of our prisoners? Correct, my lord?"

"I can always count on you," said Dorrag with a triumphant smile as he walked towards the Haradrim captain with a style akin to a swagger.

"So it would seem," muttered Darcíl briefly under his breath before his lord came close enough to hear.

Taking the tunic of Legolas, a dark green, bloodied and crinkled, he flashed it before his liege's narrowed and haunting eyes before tossing it into a heap at the mortal prince's feet. Then he took the ranger's, more ripped than the Elf's and stained totally sanguine with blood, and tossed it on top of the Elf's. Lastly he produced the belts and scabbards of the two captives.

"These will be what will convince them more than anything," he smiled as he drew the small dagger that had been nestled inside the sheathe of one of Aragorn's belts. It was Elven and it made the accusation that the ranger was an Elf-friend all the more believable, much to the disadvantage of the prisoner.

Darcíl then unwrapped the decorative belt of Legolas and said, "this effect will be remembered well, I believe, for Elves each tend to make their own things or have them specially made. Like a trademark of themselves, really. What they make reflects who they are…or what they are…or so is my theory…"

"Are you hinting at something captain?" asked Dorrag in an anxious voice that sounded akin to a child waiting to be told a secret but with a more demanding and pressing tone behind it that an innocent child could never bear.

"I am just wondering if perhaps we have an abnormal Elf in our hands. I am hardly familiar with Elvish runes or customs, my lord. But this belt has leaves, a certain leaf, actually, all around it followed a sun burst emblem with a silver sort of tree set in front. I think he might be of an esteemed family," finished Darcíl cautiously, watching his lord's reaction.

"Is that the only basis you have for your assumption?" Dorrag began to seethe as he felt his patience waning. If it was, he was going to have a hard time restraining himself from hitting this captain upside the head. But the past told him that Darcíl was smarter than that and so he waited for an answer.

"Indeed not, my lord. That would be foolish," the Haradrim officer said rather in a self-aggrandizing way. "When you work with a prisoner, you began to get to know them, after a fashion. This Elf bears himself in a regal manner and he fears humiliation and shame more than anything else, I believe."

"So he is more than what he seems?" questioned Dorrag tensely as his eyes seemed to catch fire and his brows furrowed in a crease of interest in the new information that could be very useful in the near future.

"So it appears," replied Darcíl uneasily. He had expected this sudden spark of interest from his lord, but it still made him a bit nervous. Not that he had anything to fear from it yet, but he knew when the pressure was on.

"I want to know for sure, captain," explained Dorrag as he fingered his ring pensively, turning it over in his hand.

"The Elf is still in no mind to talk, though that is changing," responded Darcíl to his liege's comment, which was as good as an edict. "I might be able to find out from the ranger…"

"Did I make a preference to how I wanted it found out?" growled the Haradrim prince in wrathful annoyance, clenching his hand abruptly in a sign of coming anger.

Darcíl quickly warded off his lord's rage with a calm and courteous response that nearly stuck in his throat to say. "No, you did not, my lord. I was merely letting you become aware of my plans…"

"If I want to know your plans I will ask you about them!" seethed Dorrag as he looked at the garments and tokens on the floor with a look of disdain. "Take care of these and then I want to know as soon as possible who that Elf is! If he is of royal blood things could go in two directions: better or worse depending on where he is from!"

"I understand, your majesty," Darcíl tried to sound smooth and consenting but that was like trying to sound like a canary when you were in a fact a bug eyed croaking frog. It was hopeless and a bit of his contempt shown through, briefly and hardly noticeable, but he felt that it was most assuredly there.

"I will get Lieutenant Sarchel to see if the ranger's answer has changed on anything…" he stopped abruptly and said in a rushed and apologetic tone, "sorry, my prince." Well, he wasn't really sorry, but right now, the stakes were high enough and he didn't feel that he could afford to risk anymore at the moment, as much as he wouldn't mind gambling overly much with his life. The lives of his family were not his to gamble with.

"I know," answered Dorrag in strangely friendly voice, which was when Darcíl had decided he was most dangerous. "We may err among friends, who bear no ill will towards eachother," he allowed with a tense smile, if 'smile' was the right word, which Darcíl felt it most certainly was not.

"Yes, friends," Darcíl returned in a voice just as calm and with a smile that was just taut, if not more so.

He bent down and his hands gathered up the tokens and garments of the prisoners quickly, as he wanted to be out of this room as quickly as possible. It was one of those weird situations where he wanted to be anywhere but where he was. Inwardly shrugging, the dark-haired man stood himself back up and squared his shoulders proudly bit within his limits before his lord.

"My liege, that is all I have to say. So with your leave, I would go and attend to the business below."

"Of course," Dorrag answered as he walked towards his golden throne, which Darcíl felt, was less than deserved and tacky to boot. It was enough to make him shudder and he did without realizing he had done so until Dorrag asked with concern that sounded unreal, "are you well, Captain Darcíl?"

"Yes, quite, my lord. Thank you." Darcíl lowered his eyes to the floor quickly, feeling hot anger at himself for being so careless. Carelessness meant mistakes, mistakes meant death, death was not only your death but also everyone associated with you. He could not understand why he had become so inattentive to his actions. The fact that he had a lot on his mind did not bear thought as an excuse.

"Very well, I was just looking out for the well being of my best captain and closest friend." Dorrag narrowed his eyes and said wistfully, "you have my leave to go. But come back and do have dinner with me."

"Yes, and thank you, my lord."

O0O0O0O

Legolas didn't glance at the door as he heard the rough and nerve grating sound of the key twisting in the rust lock. He didn't give much thought to what was going to happen next and wasn't even going to honor these men with his attention. Hanging in the single bond that was sending fiery agony through his very bones.

Aragorn opened his eyes from where he had gone to the corner of the cell and brought his knees up to his chin to rest. He as still soaked and the sounds of the stormy weather above were not doing any better to help his frame of mind. As a matter of fact, he found the noises of dripping water and thunder downright agitating.

Looking at the door, the ranger took grim notice of the gathering of men on the opposite side preparing to enter. Sarchel, Darcíl, and other men bearing clubs and staves stood uneasily. Aragorn could very easily compare them to horses champing at their bits to kick an annoying groomer around the stable. Chuckling slightly at the thought of the men having bits and kicking like mules, the ranger bit his lower lip and chewed it to keep from bursting out laughing as Sarchel asked sharply, "something funny, ranger?"

Aragorn swallowed down his laughter and went quiet. Not answering was the best thing he could do. He feared to make things worse for Legolas and making things worse for himself didn't sound to appealing either. He gave the stone walls of this unaccommodating prison a caustic glare that made Legolas surprised that the stones didn't actually leap back.

Sarchel snorted and answered, "I didn't think so." Fingering his stave he looked with a grin at Aragorn and said, "But do not worry, things will get a little more interesting." Aragorn was going to have to remember to explain to Sarchel the difference between being funny and being completely obnoxious not to mention being less than the least bit amusing.

The door clanged open and all the men filed in. Darcíl stood before Legolas, eyeing the blonde Elf's hand and the purple tinge it had taken. "If you hang there any longer you could lose that hand, Elf." He reached up and pulled on of Legolas' fingers. "Don't tell me you felt that."

"I am not going to tell you much of anything, human," retorted Legolas readily as he met the dark eyes of the Haradrim captain steadily. "Except that you will pay for this. Someone will come for us. We will be set free and that neither of us will break of our own accord." A slight cold smile pulled at his mouth corners and it was all he could do to suppress it. Biting his tongue, the captive quirked an eyebrow and asked incredulously, "what did you come here for?"

Raising a brow to match Legolas' the man said, "I think you know." He ran his finger along a bruise and pressed it slightly with his finger. Legolas was shocked by the amount of pain the small quantity of pressure created. Hiding his shock and distress, the Elf remained impassive.

"I can never be certain," Legolas said as he watched nervously as the other men, lead by Sarchel walked over to where Aragorn was and surrounded him. He restrained himself from asking what was about to happen, but he could not hide the curiosity and uncertainty in his eyes.

"Elf, what is your name and where are you from?" asked Darcíl pensively. He looked over at Aragorn, who was watching Legolas with intense grey eyes from where he sat in the corner. Legolas knew that Aragorn was not only frightened but coming dangerously close to truly losing his temper.

"That information is classified," Legolas said steadily, as his eyes watched Aragorn, wondering what the men were doing. He could feel his breathing beginning to speed up indefinitely as he guessed what was about to take place. "I have told you once and I will say it again if it still isn't clear."

"Its clear, clear that you will suffer greatly, Elf," said Darcíl evenly. Then he glanced over his shoulder at Aragorn and turned back with a wicked grin. "Or your friend will. However, the outcome will be the same: you will die."

"That may be, but you will die as well," said Legolas bitterly. "You and your insane swine that for reasons unbeknownst to me you call a 'prince'."

"That prince is going to break you Elf, one way or another, and then you will tell all he wants to know and more besides," the Haradrim captain declared forebodingly as he nodded for the men to drag Aragorn out. He commanded over his shoulder in a loud and firm voice, "take the ranger and place him in the other cell. I want to see how he likes listening to his blonde friend scream." Turning a fierce and knowing gaze onto Legolas' face he added sinisterly, "and you will scream, Elf."

Aragorn jumped up in consternation before he could be seized and took a wavering step towards Legolas. "What? You can't do this!" he protested. Sarchel who slid a cloth between the man's teeth to act as a gag and yanked it back harshly before tying it, stopped him in his tracks and yanked him back. The other three men grabbed his arms ruthlessly and began to pull him out of the cell, Darcíl following reluctantly behind.

Aragorn felt his dislocated shoulder shrieking at him as he was jerked and tugged towards the cell door with Darcíl following. Legolas shivered and watched as his best friend was taken away but he felt a small comfort, it was himself who was going to be tortured and not Estel. But the fears of screaming flooded his thought. He knew Aragorn would be able to hear him and he wanted to be stronger, for the ranger's heart's sake. Of course he also was certain his ego wouldn't appreciate it if he dared to scream for anyone.

Darcíl said something to Sarchel who fell back and stayed behind with Legolas as the door was slammed shut behind him, its echo bouncing off the walls eerily. The man watched the Elf dangling by the chain and smiled in a way that made Legolas feel sick and a green tint come to his face as he noticed the man hitting the stave against the palm of his other hand thoughtfully.

Darcíl ordered Aragorn chained to the wall of this new room by his wrists and after this was done he smiled and said, "This should only take a few minutes. Lieutenant Sarchel has a way of getting carried away that can be very efficient."

Aragorn felt his heart sink in his chest and right down into his stomach before hardening to form a tight knot. He shivered as he sat in the ankle high water and tried to force himself to go deaf. A very hard thing to do and he wished to the Valar that it was easier.

Legolas stared at Sarchel levelly. He didn't know this human too well yet, and never really hoped to or wanted to, but he knew that he was not as smart as Captain Darcíl. That in itself was some relief, but in some cases the dumb ones that were mean as well were the worst to work with.

Sarchel looked at Legolas and brandished the stave beneath the Elf's nose before asking in a sneer, "Do you know what this is?"

Narrowing his eyes as well as knitting his brows in mock thought, Legolas raised his eyebrows and said as though he had just reached a paramount decision, "This is a long shot but let me guess… A stave!" The scorn of the sardonic triumph in his voice could not be mistaken and Sarchel's smile melted away and was replaced by a small frown.

"Well, whatever else you may be, I can rule out idiot," he mused as he looked the wooden stick he held in his hands over, turning it slowly.

"Too bad I can't say the same for you," Legolas muttered imperceptibly and scornfully under his breath. He cocked his head and watched as Sarchel came closer and went behind him, inspecting his back grimly.

"Poor little Elf," he teased cruelly as he gave Legolas a pat on his back that made him go taut under the touch. It was a reflex he could not help and he resented the man for it.

Suddenly Legolas arched his back and hissed as the stave came into hard contact with his already marred back. He was lurched forward and his body came swinging back. Blood seeped out in a small trickle from beneath the manacle winding around his wrist.

"You have no idea how good that felt," purred Sarchel in Legolas' ear as he grabbed a lock of hair and yanked Legolas' head back.

Legolas snarled and said in an angry and thick voice, "Well don't get used to it." He tried to jerk his head away but he had to admit it hurt a whole lot more than expected and he didn't get far.

Sarchel smiled and seeing Legolas' slender pointy ear a frown crossed his face. Then, without warning Legolas felt the man's teeth nip his ear, one of the most sensitive parts of his body. But they didn't just nip his ear, they bit down, not hard enough to bite the point off or break the skin, but hard enough to hurt terribly and cause him to hiss and he strongly resisted the nearly overwhelming drive to beat his feet against the air as a way to vent his pain.

He would have cried out more but at the moment he was still contemplating the fact that this man had just _bitten_ his _ear_. It was more than just a little abnormal in occurrence and Legolas found himself more than confused and nearly cast a bewildered look at his tormentor. But he was so torn between confusion, rage, and pain that his face was utterly expressionless for a few brief seconds.

Sarchel smiled and withdrew from the Elf for a moment, watching to see his reaction, which to his irritation was not so much fear as anger. He was hoping to see at least a tremble on the blonde Elf's chin or perhaps a wide-eyed look for mercy. He continued to grip Legolas' blonde hair fiercely, forcing his head to remain held back. He knew that he shouldn't have expected so much.

"So how did that feel?" he whispered hoarsely to the chained prince, who did his best to meet his enemy's scornful glare due to the difficult position he was placed in.

"What do you think?" Legolas spat angrily.

The captive grimaced as the fingers twisted and burrowed deeper into his hair before Sarchel bit down slightly harder on his ear's tip, causing the fair-haired being to shiver. Saying that this man was insane was a definite understatement. "You know, Elf," Sarchel remarked with a slow relish. "I usually don't go for blondes but in your case I might make an exception."

Legolas nearly shuddered and felt himself beginning to feel sick and he could feel the green color coming back to his face. "You are wasting your time," he growled lethally around a hard-set jaw. And he was hardly trying to be smart about his comments. Legolas was being totally serious.

He did not like how the man's last remark had sounded honest and nearly in likes to a purr of a satisfied and devious cat. If he looked closely enough at the well-shaven man he could actually picture a few long whiskers. Not only that if he hadn't been under the threat of worse torment that he unfortunately was the prince might have laughed out loud. But he felt a strong sense of dread as the man released his hair and allowed him to lift his head upright.

He lifted his head slowly, hoping not to create his headache anew. But he felt himself losing that battle quickly as his head ascend and his skull felt compressed not to mention like his brain was swimming inside. It was a bleary sensation and it made his stomach turn and a swelling feeling came under his tingue as he felt like he was going to vomit.

"Well if you refuse to tell me what is needed or your friend does, I may have to break my rule and get to know you better," he threatened and Legolas felt his breathing want to speed up as the man's eyes seemed to catch fire with a lust. How sick could a person get?

Wanting to give up but with a spirit that would not allow it, Legolas said thickly, "you will never know me, human. You are a sick, perverted coward and will die a sick, perverted coward!" He felt a throbbing ache run his arms length and fill his marrow with a horrible pain that was undeniable.

As Legolas watched the man with eyes glazed over with suffering, he realized how remarkably close this mortal was to an orc. Lustful, corrupt, ugly, cruel without need, and cold-blooded; he was the most Goblin like human Legolas had seen in a long time and he was surprised that the man was not blue because of the ice that had to flow through his veins. As a matter of fact, if Legolas looked closely he was certain he could see blue-ish tainted blood shifting under the seemingly translucent skin. It made his skin craw and caused undeniable and unpreventable shivers to wonder slowly up his spine, causing his hair to rise on the back of his neck.

"That may be, but not before you or that ranger get to know exactly how sick I am," he imperiled to the Elf.

"You _wish_ your lord would allow it," Legolas taunted. As much as the sane part of his mind said that he needed to shut his mouth while he was ahead, the hopelessly insane half commanded him to use the old tactic of -frustrate-and-annoy-your-captor-to-no-end. Although the bound Elf knew that this tactic would only lead to more pain and could also prove to make the man carry out his threats, he could not help himself but be as thoroughly obstinate as he was able.

"Elf," Sarchel growled and his face seemed to turn scarlet and then grey with anger. "I am getting tired of your lip!" As he spoke he struck Thranduil's son across the mouth, hitting the old bruise and breaking the swollen lip anew. The force of the blow snapped Legolas' head to the side sharply and Legolas was bewildered as to why his neck had not broken though he was that much relieved.

Legolas had little time to even realize he had blood running down his chin before he noticed that Sarchel had the stave raised about the shoulder of the arm he was hanging by. His eyes went wide in terror of the pain he knew would follow and he could only gap. The stave came down in slow motion, as though obscured in cold honey.

Legolas screamed despite himself as he felt the hard wooden club come in contact with his shoulder and then there was a creaking sound above. The rotten beam gave where the chain was wrapped around and a chunk of decaying wood came tumbling down on top of Legolas with the chain, freeing him from the pinching, torturous manacle's agony though it was still attached to his wrist.

Legolas tried to stand and came to the realization with growing dread that he could not. He was too weak and the wood made his movements awkward. The Elf was on his feet but his knees wobbled and he collapsed back into the filthy two-inch water with a soft and defeated splash. Looking at his all but maimed hand that rested in his lap, the Elven prince watched as the purple tint began to disappear and circulation returned.

The pain of his own blood flowing back into his hand coupled with the nerves that had gotten slightly pinched was sharp and unrelenting. Little needles of pain pricked his skin and he felt like he had stuck his hand in a hornet's nest and was being attacked with a vengeance. The tingling affliction spread like fire up his arm and through out his stretched chest, hurting especially in the bruises areas.

Sucking on his bleeding lip thoughtfully, the Elf flexed his fingers slowly to encourage blood-flow and looked up at Sarchel with hurting but fierce eyes. And Sarchel noticed with agitation that he could not get the cold defiance and life out of the eyes, though he could add pain to their list of strong emotions. It was more than unsatisfying it was frustrating. He lived to see the broken look in his victim's eyes and when he was not able to see that it was enough to evoke paranoia.

Without saying a word he walked closer to the fallen Elf and clenched his fists at his side. Legolas had no time to even realize he had a boot being driven in full throttle towards his battered chest before it struck him and knocked him so that he was on his back in the cold water. Too tired to get up and try to fight back, Legolas just lay there, looking up at his tormenter bitterly.

Sarchel came and roughly tore the manacle free of the Elf.

The man then reached in his pocket with his hand and pulled out something. It looked like a sliver of silver, a sharp sliver of silver. Holding it up before Legolas he hissed with a low and venomous tonicity, "This is a spike."

Raising a brow, Legolas said mockingly, "you don't say. I wish I knew that."

Ignoring the comment made by his captive, the Lieutenant continued with a slow relish. "But it isn't an ordinary spike. It is extremely sharp, like a sliver of glass and tiny so no lasting damage is done." Twirling it leisurely in his fingers, the human suddenly stopped and pressed it against one of his fingers with very little effort. Blood oozed out of a small laceration made by the spiny tip. He smiled and inquired, "Now what is your name?"

Aragorn sat on the floor hopelessly as he was chained to the wall. His head was bowed and he didn't know how much longer his nerves could stand this. He wished that he would die. Another strangled and tormented cry filtered through the stone walls before choking off abruptly as he knew Legolas gained control of his emotions once more.

That was the third cry he had heard come from his friend in the hour and more choked than the last two. He could not help but wonder what they were doing to his friend. It frightened him to hear Legolas scream. Legolas was always controlled, always calm or at least for the most part. To make him scream took a lot of pressure and a lot of pain. He always liked to think that when he and Legolas got themselves into trouble, it was always going to be Legolas who was the strong one, Legolas who was the protecting defiant one. But he was reminded of the fact he had always known: that everyone, even Elves, had his or her match. Even Elves could die and break. But the ominous prophecy of Mandos from long ago was now becoming all too clear.

He wished, for what had to be close the thousandth time that he had not dragged his friend into this mess. If he had not brought Legolas down to the South with him, then Legolas would not be in this sort of pain and the world would not be in the danger it was in. If either of them broke and Dorrag's masterminding plan came to pass then Middle Earth would be doomed. He knew his own race was too weak to face Sauron without some aid from the Elves.

As he shifted the ranger's dislocated shoulder begged for attention and it was becoming more difficult for him to ignore it and push it aside every time. Another weaker and shivering cry rent the air and he choked back a suffocating sob as he heard it slowly wither and die.

Darcíl looked at Aragorn as he listened with disdain to the cries of the tormented Elf. "Only someone with ice in his veins could standby and listen to his friend being tortured without trying to give him a way out of his pain." Crouching by the captive ranger he whispered in his ear, "he followed you here, he came for you. Such a loyal friend you have. Isn't it a shame that it is the person he trusted most and cared for most that caused him to be captured and endure such pain?"

Aragorn looked up at the Haradrim captain with angered eyes flecked with hurt. Darcíl nodded, "yes, he endures, for now. He is strong. You chose your friends well, ranger. But his attempts to hide his identity and homeland are going to prove futile."

Raising his chin, Aragorn glared, "My friend will _never_ break. Don't flatter yourself, your men or your insane prince."

Laughing dryly, Darcíl muttered, "they are always so confident in the beginning."

Aragorn felt his already drained face go cold as he heard a suffocated wail rise and fall without warning. A dreadful silence fell and the hard knot in Aragorn's stomach moved up to his throat. The uncertainty was a torture to his mind and spirit. The ranger felt his hands shaking and he hoped that Darcíl did not notice. "Please, stop this! He will die! He is little than a child in the years of his own people!"

This was only a half-truth because Legolas had come to majority at six hundred years of age. However, the truthful part of the statement was that Legolas was a young Elf and only two thousand eight hundred and eighty five.

"Tell me who he is and where he came from and I might consider it. But no, he will not die, human, not until I get out of him what my lord wants. Now will you not end his suffering and tell me?"

Aragorn's will hardened as though on cue and he snarled with inner frustration, "he apparently is not gagged. If he wants to stop his pain he will tell you himself! Besides, if we are going to die one way or the other, you tell me which is more honorable and worth our time!"

"He may tell you he doesn't want you to say anything, and you both may have made a compact with each other earlier, but once he is in there his strength will begin to buckle, as will his mind." The Haradrim captain stopped as one of the Elves' louder cries hung in the air, adding to the ghosts of the screams still echoing in Aragorn's ears and mind. Aragorn felt his stomach churning and acid rising in his throat as his anxiety made him feel violently ill.

Green faced he looked at Darcíl, who shook his head sadly. He hated being placed in this position, but he had originally been assigned to torture the captive Elf so this was slightly better. However, if it were up to him he would simply put the Elf and the ranger to death and have done. He despised them, yes, but he felt no need to torture them. As long as they were dead and made an example of as soon as the means of their demise was uncovered by the Elves and their friends. "He will want to speak," Darcíl asserted emotionlessly. "But he won't be able to open his mouth without screaming or simply gapping in pain."

"I will never betray him to you," Aragorn promised angrily. He was angry that he was being asked and nearly blackmailed to back stab his friend. "If I were to betray him, then all that he had suffered would have been in vain and I could not bear that, not after hearing his screams. You may win for a day, but in the end your mission will fail." Aragorn let his cold silver eyes clash with the baleful glare of the captain. His lips were a thin white line as he pressed them together in emotional anguish as much as suppressed anger.

"So you say, wait until you see what he has thus far endured," responded Darcíl coolly, leaning back against the wall casually. "Then make your decision." Shifting his weight uncomfortably as last strangled cry tainted the air and was cut off abruptly. "You know, if what I command of Sarchel doesn't work, I can always let him have his way with the Elf. Though I wouldn't want to do that, it would damage his mind and then he could get his information confused. Not only that, it would be a nasty business."

Aragorn resisted the want to jump up and choke Darcíl with his good arm only. But even if he had decided to leap up and choke Darcíl unrelentingly, the chains would hold him back. Lucky for the Haradrim captain. "You wouldn't…" began the ranger as he guessed the sick meaning of the hints.

"I wouldn't want to, but I would if I were forced." He sighed, as the dungeons were eerily quiet. His eyes became concerned and a bit anxious. "I think he might have gone too far," was all he said as he walked quickly for the door and towards Legolas' cell, where the screams had ceased and so had the shouting. Aragorn felt his heart rise into his throat and stick there.

**TBC…Ouch, yeah, evil cliffie here. But hey, you all know that you really do love the cliffies, you simply hate those who write them. LOL**

**Please drop in a review. Thanks, they are very much appreciated. :)**


	9. Close Enemies

_**CHAPTER NINE**_

Close Enemies 

_"Keep your friends close and your enemies closer." _

_Unknown _

"Move over!" hissed Elrohir in his twin brother's ear as he tried with little success to peer over Elladan's shoulder, which was chiefly due to the fact they were identical and that meant that they shared the same height. Both were leaning over the rail of one of the balconies of Rivendell while hiding behind a curtain so they were invisible to anyone below except for Elladan's face peeking around the edge and his fingers on the frilly borders.

"Shhhhh…"the elder brother growled under his breath. "He will hear us!" He swirled his eyes back to glare with annoyance at his anxious twin. Then after sparing with Elrohir in a baleful glower, he turned his attention back to Glorfindel, who was walking with his white horse along the banks of the pond.

"If you don't move over and let me see what is happening, Elladan Peredhil, I will cast you over the edge…"

A hand over his mouth stifled any further conversation or threats by the younger twin as Elladan whispered harshly again, "shhhhh…" Elladan suddenly jerked his hand back with a cry and turned fully around to ask the younger dark-haired Elf who was glaring and wiping his mouth, "did you just _bite_ me?" The elder identical brother wiped his hand with disdain on his breeches before saying. "Act your age, not your shoe size!"

"Brother, may I remind you your shoe size is the same as my own, and are you implying that I have small feet?" Elrohir reproached with an arched brow as he crossed his arms obstinately and bit back a laugh. A smile lurked in his mouth's corners and was slowly turning them up into a grin.

Elladan quirked an eyebrow and returned the look evenly. He then spun back around on his heels and watched with amusement as Glorfindel patted Asfaloth's neck and leaned on the horse, giving it a warm hug. "He treats that horse better than he does his own!" grumbled the dark-haired Noldo in a nearly whining voice like a child. "No wonder the Valar sent him back!"

He blinked as the sunlight hit his eyes, blinding him for a moment.

When he saw Glorfindel again the Gondolin Elf was sitting underneath the tree Elrohir had been sleeping under, with his eyes closed and his hands still holding the book he had taken from Erestor's study. A content smirk graced his lips and a dangerous look adorned his features. Asfaloth was eating grass quietly nearby.

Elrohir finally got annoyed enough and gripping Elladan's tunic collar, pulled him back as he pressed his way forward to take what he felt was his rightful turn peering around the drape. He snickered quietly as he took in the scene by the pond's edge.

A serene voice behind both of the brothers made them spin around try to hide exactly what they were doing. "What is amusing you so?" asked Erestor as he came forward, holding a quill that Elladan guessed he had used earlier and forgotten to put down but that Elrohir supposed he carried around as a weapon.

"Well, it s certainly not something you would find amusing," Elrohir tired to ward off Erestor looking out over the balcony knowing that Glorfindel might very well die from the piercing glare he would receive as soon as the dark-haired counselor set his eyes on the book being held hostage.

"Whatever do you mean?" Erestor narrowed his eyes, obviously curious. Amusement glittered in his calm grey eyes as he walked forward, only to be stopped by Elladan stepping swiftly in front of him to obscure his view. Normally they wouldn't care if Erestor ripped Glorfindel's hair out or vise versa, but they wanted to put themselves out of harms way first. Elrohir strongly suspected that if Erestor was provoked and frustrated enough, he might actually stab one of them to death with his quill just to vent his wrath.

But of course the way they were trying to cover up Glorfindel and the purloined book the insane counselor might think that they were conspiring with Glorfindel and that could be slightly more risky and definitely bloodier because if Erestor was going to kill, he would kill all three of them. Erestor was the kind that was unnaturally enthusiastic about murdering those who committed one of the three top crimes (in his opinion): messing with paperwork, wrongfully filing paperwork and stealing said paperwork or other works of literature. Glorfindel had done all three at some point in his life.

Elrohir was contemplating whether or not to hurriedly explain to Erestor about the book and their innocence before the adviser had a chance to murder them. But Erestor suddenly said in a provoked and prying tone, "This doesn't have to do with a certain book that has been missing since exactly four in the morning, does it?" He furrowed his dark eyebrows for emphasis and he nearly looked like the Lord Elrond save for the fact that he was shorter in stature and a bit more intimidating.

Elrohir looked appalled and he asked in shock, "what sensible person is up at _four_ in the _morning_ when they have the privilege to sleep in?" He looked at Erestor as though the adviser had just sprouted a second head or said he planed to negotiate with Sauron over a cup of hot tea. But the younger twin doubted that Sauron would want to meet Erestor unless he absolutely had to.

"I do," declared the counselor quite seriously as he glared at Elrond's middle child. "And when I went to read another chapter in my book _The Union of Meadhros: Great Negotiations of the First Age_ it was conveniently missing!" Elladan knew he was supposed to help Elrohir, him being his younger brother, but when confronted with a practically seething Lord Erestor, as a general rule of thumb it was everyone for themselves.

"If you are planning to murder my dear, insane brother that is fine. But please don't kill me in your wrath," Elladan begged incisively. Erestor's look became more incensed and Elladan moved aside, pointing down accusingly to the golden-haired Elf below before Erestor slew him in cold blood. "Glorfindel did it!"

Erestor went to the edge of the balcony and gripped the railing tightly as he leaned out to look scrupulously at his opponent. Gray eyes narrowed in what could be called a provoked way, and the counselor's lips pressed into a discreet and thin white line of visible fury. "That lummox,"' he ground out through grit teeth as his eyebrows knitted in his growing wrath.

Looking at the horse that grazed faithfully nearby Erestor smiled wryly but his eyes still burned with a sort of fierceness that was not easily described. "I think if it were not for Asfaloth he might actually try to get married." Shaking his head he said with a sigh, "he loves that horse far too much than what is good for him. Its disgusting." But he said this with a smile and so of course he wasn't serious for the first time in a long time.

Elladan and Elrohir simply exchanged grins with one another. Both knew as did the rest of Rivendell's inhabitance that Asfaloth was Glorfindel's horse, but he liked Erestor far better. This often lead to strange battles of wills between the two Elves and they were often amusing to watch as well. Not to mention that they didn't make very much sense and no one ever tried to unravel anything further. Not that either of those Elves _loved_ the horse in the _most_ affectionate way but neither of them hated the animal. And they were about the only ones who did not.

Quietly, the dark-haired counselor smiled in a fashion, which made the twins think of a scheming and deranged alligator and then, turned to head for the stairs. His footsteps were soft and slow, and it was obvious to anyone who saw him he was an Elf on a evil mission and was working to restrain any rash actions that could cost him the objective.

In a few moments he was standing before Glorfindel, with his arms crossed, waiting patiently for the golden-haired Elf to wake-wake to his living nightmare.

As if on cue Glorfindel's glimmering blue eyes fluttered open and he yawned lazily, simply to annoy the adviser who he knew to be already livid.

Erestor's smile broadened tensely and he asked in a thick voice, "Have a nice nap, did we? You know, it is unwise to bring books near the edge of a pond."

Glorfindel stood up and smiled back innocently, sliding the book behind his back, "what book, Lord Erestor?" He looked like a child who had just stolen something of supreme value and had no intention of giving it back without some sort of a scuffle.

"Unless I am mistaken, you have my copy of _The Union of Meadhros: Great Negotiations of the First Age_, and I really would appreciate it back. That is, of course, if you are finished reading it," his smile turned to a calculating glare with a hint of amusement somewhere in his eyes. And strangely enough, Glorfindel was not that hard pressed to find it in their grey depths. "However, you certainly chose an odd time to take it. Who steals a book to read at four in the morning?"

"Well, what were you doing looking for it at four in the morning?" countered Glorfindel as he took a step backwards before Erestor advanced much closer. He really didn't feel "safe" within a four foot radius of the livid counselor as long as he was in possession of the wanted book. Actually he didn't feel totally safe as long as Erestor was within his sight. Erestor had been known to be rather drastic about measures he took to get his assets back.

"That," said Erestor firmly. "Is none of your business." He stretched out his hand and held it open before Glorfindel as though he expected to see the Gondolin Elf drop the book into his hand and apologize ruefully.

Glorfindel spun around to run or at least start to walk away quickly and then he abruptly saw stars. Blinking, he shook his head stupidly. Erestor nearly laughed at the golden-haired Elf's gapping mouth and blue eyes widened in shock. Keeping his composure to the best of his ability, Erestor let a thin smile melt across his face in pure and unaltered amusement.

The confused and utterly bewildered expression on Glorfindel's face was priceless as it was, but the reason for the expression and the black and blue knot forming on the Gondolin warrior's forehead was invaluable as far as laughter at other's expense went.

He could hear Glorfindel's excuse vividly in his mind: _the tree branch didn't move out of my way. _Snatching the piece of literature from the stammering Elf's hand, Erestor said stiffly, "serves you right."

Glorfindel staggered backwards a few steps before giving his head a quick and terse shake as he tried to jolt his blurred and much confused senses back. Blinking a few more times he looked at Erestor and asked dimly, "what happened?" It was then he knew that he was out of his right mind; otherwise he might have pretended nothing had happened at all.

Erestor finally let his grin break through and said, "It would appear that your forehead connected with a low hanging tree branch."

Looking his red-covered book over for any lasting or even temporary damage, the dark-haired Elf frowned minutely as he discovered a dog-eared page that looked vaguely like it had come into contact with some form of moisture. A thin stab of anger bristled his even temperament and he glared at Glorfindel, satisfied as he saw the humiliating purple knot growing over the other's right eyebrow.

Glorfindel frowned and then held his head high and tried to appear unconcerned about the recent accident. But his felt a slight pain blaze through his awareness and grow into a throbbing headache all in about fifty seconds, give or take a few.

O0O0O0O0O

Darcíl walked as quickly as he could without tripping over his own feet in his anxiety. His heart was beating quickly to some extent and he wondered with mounting dread if he would find the mutilated corpse of the Elf lying in the water on the floor surrounded by a growing red stain. He should have stayed there to make sure that everything went according to the plan instead of waiting with the ranger watching the man's face turn from white to red; horror to abhorrence and anger.

He knew the answer to why he had chosen to see the ranger's show of emotions over interrogating the Elf. Though he was loath to admit it, there was something inside that twisted and burned whenever the Elf looked at him with those sharp eyes that seemed to penetrate his conscience and see clear through him in a way that made him feel very exposed. It was like that blonde wretch knew what he was all about. That thought was disturbing acknowledged the man and he swung open the door of the cell with one quick twitch of his hand and swing of his arm.

The sight he saw threatened to turn his stomach and made him flex his fingers convulsively in imaginary pain but the sight of the Elf _alive_ also sent waves of pure and complete relief to break over his senses like waves on beach.

The blonde being was on his knees with a gapping mouth that opened and shut systematically and a white face. His lips had even assumed a chalky color striped with red cracks where they were dry and bled. All calm demeanors seemed to have dissolved from the fair-haired Elf's face as Darcíl watched him clench his eyes tightly shut and his lips move wordlessly as he tried to dispel his pain. It was more than obvious that his attempts were far from achieving their goal. Dark rings encircled around the immortal's eyes and one eye in particular had clearly been punched at a point where the captive's defiance must have irked Sarchel.

Sarchel had Legolas' wrist in his hand and was working on popping it from its assigned socket. And from the mutilated and distorted way the immortal's fingers looked it seemed to Darcíl's narrowed eyes that they were all dislocated or broken on his right hand, but the Haradrim Captain was not sure. He didn't think he had the stomach to examine them long enough with his eyes to find out. The only thing that kept this captive from resisting strongly enough to escape or create a tumult was the fact that his energy was stolen due to his time hanging from one wrist and that arm's strength was spent for now. Otherwise the Haradrim captain was sure that the Elf would have proven to have been a very resistant captive as he had in the beginning.

Legolas had heard the door bang open and he slowly opened one eye and it was then that Darcíl noticed the other was almost swollen shut, but a sliver of anger could be seen glowing from beneath the inflamed lids. But in the single eye that was wholly opened he saw more contempt and pure loathing than he had ever thought he would see in one orb. It was truly fascinating when one thought of it. Darcíl spent nearly a whole minute studying the emotion the one eye possessed. As he did he saw it also had scornful pity mixed in with the abhorrence that glittered defiantly. It was the pity that shocked him the most and pierced him deeply. But it also served to flare up his temper and frowning he glared at Sarchel critically.

"Lieutenant!" he snapped abruptly. "Is this as far as you could get?" His tone was thick and commanding not to mention a bit over bearing. But Sarchel guessed that was the entire point and wasn't too surprised but he was alarmed. Legolas felt Sarchel's fear run through his arm like an electric shock and glanced up at his tormentor with laughing eyes. Probably not the best thing to do but it felt good to see the one who had caused him so much pain squirming like a worm on a hook. "Did he tell you asingledamnthing?"

Sarchel released Legolas' wrist and let the arm fall into its owner's lap. Legolas resisted the urge to wince and cry out all at once, so he bit his tongue and worked on keeping his chin defiantly up. He felt like the room was merging and swimming in all sorts of odd shapes and colors, which he was finding refreshing and sort of enjoyable at this point. At least they temporarily took _some_ of the pain away. Not to mention that his head felt strangely like it weighed as much as a single oliphaunt and his neck trembled as he struggled to hold his head up high, causing a throbbing headache to attack his senses with a vengeance.

"He didn't tell me anything, Captain," Sarchel answered readily but unable to keep a slight and nearly imperceptible stammer from his voice as he confronted his superior officer who seemed ready to throttle him. Glancing at Legolas he smiled tauntingly, "but he does have a voice."

Intensifying his bitter and hard glare to the best of his ability, Legolas aimed it straight for junior officer and his lips pressed into a thin line. Sarchel looked down and he took Legolas' damaged hand none too gently before folding the dislocated fingers in on each other and then giving it a tight squeeze. A cold smile crossed his face.

The pain of the fingers being folded after their dislocation was enough to put into question Legolas' strength to hold back another scream, but the harsh squeeze that was given caused him to jerk back and he hissed loudly before giving a quick and bitten off cry of intense agony. His other hand clenched until its knuckles were bright white and his own finger nails nipped his palm. Sarchel applied a bit more pressure and Legolas could not help but give a muffled scream slightly before getting emotions under control. His chest was heaving in his desperate efforts not to scream again.

Darcíl had to mentally keep his fingers in check so they would not coil at his side and so he would not flinch. "I see, Lieutenant. I also see that weak Elves are too much for you to handle, so you can play with the ranger next time. But this conversation is over." He watched as Sarchel grimaced noticeably at the insult.

As Darcíl looked at the captive Elf he noticed small puncture wounds in the Elf's joints. They were not much more than the size of a pen-head but they were between the ball and socket. Little blood ran from them or if more of it had the water had washed it clean. He looked in disdain at the floodwater in the cell as though the blood that he knew flowed in it was going to poison him.

"Before you leave, bring in the ranger so he can see the damage done to his friend," commanded the Haradrim captain as he moved away from the door and began towards Legolas. "Perhaps his pity and sorrow will move him to reason."

Sarchel looked like he was about to object as he half opened his mouth and then shut it with a snap as apparently he thought better of it. His face went stony and Legolas guessed he was suppressing a grim and definite anger towards his captain. At least that was entertaining, depending on how you looked at it. _Curious_, he thought in the darker part of his mind, _curious that I actually feel cold. _It was one of those uncomfortable feelings he had not felt in a few years. But he felt more than cold, he felt miserable.

Yes, 'miserable' was the only way to describe it. Then again, he amended quickly, some other words or phrases like, 'severely agitated ' came to mind but other than that he could not think of all that many adjectives to describe how he felt at that moment.

After watching Sarchel slink out of the room, Darcíl looked gravely at Legolas and addressed him calmly and firmly, "Elf, I know you are in horrible pain, but this could all end so easily, and you wouldn't have to suffer the tiniest bit more…at least not until your death and even that will be relatively quick." Taking Legolas' mangled hand in his own he slowly spread the crooked and swollen fingers, noting Legolas' sharp intake of breath and the moans that escaped the blonde immortal's parched and bleeding lips. "And all you have to do is tell me your name, just your name and where you live. Then you can be at peace until execution day."

"Not…in your…most beaut…iful fantasies," Legolas managed and hardened his face around the pain to fix Sarchel with a relentless glower. He spat out one word spitefully, "never."

"Have it your way," Darcíl said in a smooth voice as he looked at the nearly blood shot eyes and the pale face that was within a little ways of being transparent. "But next time you are off limits, it's the ranger's turn. Your best friend gets to be tortured, for your sake." The thing that frightened Legolas the most was that there was no taunting in this man's voice, he was being honest and simply informative.

Legolas unexpectedly snapped his head up to look at Darcíl with wide eyes and his face had become even chalkier if that were possible. "What?" he asked breathlessly. "You can't do that!" the fair-haired immortal managed to protest for what little he knew that it was worth.

"Oh yes I can and I can assure you, I will," bending one of Legolas' fingers he felt the being shudder. "So as you wait here in agony for tomorrow, I suggest you think about whether you want your friend enduring what you have or not." Releasing the distorted finger, the man said emotionlessly, "have a nice night."

As Aragorn was lead in his eyes fell full upon his best friend, taking in the ghost like face and the way Legolas was bowed on his knees in the ankle-high floodwater as though he was some slave and not the proud Prince of the Wood-Elves. His tussled hair was falling about his face hiding the dark bruise surrounding an ugly black eye aside from other numerous bruises on his battered face and hammered chest.

Gaping in shock and sympathy for the bleeding Elf, Aragorn ran forward as fast his manacles would allow and kneeled by the blonde Elf's side, offering his companionship. Darcíl smirked even as he felt something inside his heart bleeding so to speak and that little inner voice that he hardly ever listened to anymore trying to convict him of guilt for the prisoners' blood. Pushing down all thoughts of sympathy, the man slammed the door and left the friends to themselves.

Aragorn locked eyes with Legolas and asked in a stammer that was half choked with shock in itself, "My friend whatever did they do to you?" Aragorn found it amazed he found his voice because his throat felt swollen and dry. His heart labored to beat as it found a deep commiseration with his friend who looked like death.

Legolas finally began to shiver and his breathing became dangerously uneven and shallow. Aragorn followed the strangely dropped gaze of the azure eyes to Legolas' lap, where his hand with the damaged fingers lay. The sight made Aragorn's heart skip a beat and he knew what devastation this meant for Legolas, pain aside. The prince would never be able to use his bow properly again if they were not quickly set back into their joints and mobility returned.

Legolas looked at Aragorn tiredly and said in a soft voice dripping with regret, like spoken tears, "I am sorry. I tried not to scream, I knew you could hear me." His eyes fell to the floor in anguish of the situation and his unneeded apology ended in a forlorn whisper. He didn't want to make things harder on Aragorn than they already were. But knowing that Aragorn had been able to hear every cry…that hurt, a lot.

Aragorn gently took the Elf's all but mauled hand and tenderly held it. "You have nothing to be sorry for, my friend. Nobody could have done any better than you did," he added to try and reassure his companion that he was still just as brave and strong as before. Legolas tried to pull his mangled hand away but Aragorn only had to apply a tiny bit more strength to still the prince's movements. Even Aragorn was surprised and disquieted.

Legolas sighed dejectedly, "Oh, I don't know. I feel so…crushed." He glared then at the ranger threateningly. "And if you ever tell the twins or _anyone_ for that matter that I said that, you are a dead man walking." He winced as Aragorn gingerly took his forefinger and began to straighten it as considerately and painlessly as he might. Groaning, the prince bit his swollen bottom lip until it began to bleed before giving a slight cry that tore at Aragorn's heart.

But because of his own dislocated arm that was hurting severely and feeling like it was ready to drop off, the man could not hold Legolas' hand and get the fingers straight. Sighing dispiritedly, he said, "Mellon nin, you are going to have to be strong and hold your hand out while I fix it. My arm is unwilling to cooperate at the moment." He connected his own disquieted silver eyes with the pain glazed blue ones that stung his heart. "Can you do that?"

Legolas breathed nervously, "of course."

Aragorn knew that Legolas might think he could, but the agony he was briefly going to feel was going to test every ounce of strength he had. He felt Legolas lock his arm and turn away so he didn't have to look at his own disfigured fingers being cracked back into place. It was bad enough to hear them popping and feel them snapping into their correct joints.

Legolas knew that this had to happen; otherwise he would have rather let it alone. But if he didn't get his fingers fixed then not only would he never string an arrow, he wouldn't be able to relocate Aragorn's shoulder. It was his friend's wounds from the ranger's previous session that were in the front of his mind and thinking about what the man had been promised next made Legolas feel like he was going to pass out.

He felt a sharp pain and grit his teeth as his face contorted and his eyes clenched tightly shut so that it looked like they were nearly nonexistent. Hissing as he sensed with acute pain his finger being straightened, the blonde Elf pressed his tongue to the rough of his mouth. He suddenly gave a hoarse cry and then bit his lower lips to silence himself.

How he managed to retain some form of consciousness while pain blinded his vision he would never know and in truth he didn't really want to. But when the last finger was in place he breathed and a sigh of relief and slowly flexed his hand stiffly in disbelief. It still caused minor pain but nothing compared to what he had been experiencing. The minute twitches of his fingers relaxing were ending quickly as his body began its quick recovery rate. But still, it was going to take a long time for them to heal into normality once more.

Legolas was thinking about all that had transpired and about whether he would be the same again when he felt a hand touch his shoulder delicately. He looked at saw Aragorn staring at the small puncture wound in his shoulder and the other in his elbow. Grimacing at the memories, the Elf smiled thinly and it never touched his eyes.

"That was where _he_ drove a small, sharp pin between my joints and their sockets before twisting it," explained the blonde immortal openly as he rotated his shoulder slowly to help get it working better. In his opinion Sarchel's name was like a vile curse: never to be uttered if it could be helped. If a 'name' must be given the phrase 'insane excuse for a goon' would have to suffice. "It leaves no lasting damage it is so small, but the agony it produces is surprising, trust me."

Narrowing his eyes into slits of unmitigated concern, the grave Elven prince suggested seriously, "let me pop your shoulder back into its socket before it is too late. Elrond would kill me if I didn't attempt as much and kill you if you didn't let me," added the Elf succinctly.

"You are trying to draw attention off your own wounds," accused Aragorn darkly as he started to stand up but was stopped by Legolas' eyes catching fire and a smoldering glare returning to them, taking over the pained look.

He found it annoying that Legolas could have that much power over a person with just his eyes. The look he was giving was commonly known around both Mirkwood and Rivendell as the _Glare of Sudden Death_, because usually if you didn't comply your death was certain. However, nobody had ever dared not to comply so really that was only a theory that had somehow become a legend.

"No I am not," stated the blonde Elf tonelessly as he motioned for Aragorn to sit back down. Aragorn looked with disgust at the water and then complied reluctantly. It was cold, wet and he knew that in it mingled Legolas' blood as well as his own. A slight rumble of thunder echoed form overhead as another storm approached.

"Wonderful," muttered Aragorn half to himself as he slumped down next to the frowning prince. His sardonic tone was not lost on Legolas and the Elf quirked an eyebrow before swirling his blue eyes up for a quick, pointless look since the ceiling and lack of windows prevented him from seeing to outside world.

"Splendid." Legolas' sardonic remark was to be expected and the Elf sighed before rolling his eyes dramatically back down to look grimly at Aragorn's dislocated, more like mutilated shoulder.

As Legolas began to feel the joint to see which way he should set it, he became aware that he was grinding his teeth in his fury at the treatment of his friend. Of course it was to be counted upon but he still had every right to feel furious about it, did he not? Of course he did. What a stupid question. It wasn't bad enough that Aragorn had his shoulder stabbed and the javelin that skewered it was wickedly twisted out, but then it was probed with an obviously hot knife. But on top of that, as though one shoulder being mauled wasn't bad enough, his other was cruelly dislocated and left untreated nearly too long. Legolas was still debating the last part of his observations. The way the swelling around the joint looked made it seem like it indeed had been too long since it was tended.

Well if that was the case decided the prince smugly and with a thin smile, then the men would have to pay double for their evils. But as he felt the wound further with his good hand, the Elf narrowed his eyes and then came to realize, although it wasn't too clear, that the ball still had a chance at being replaced back into the socket. However, it was going to be a tricky business and Legolas knew that there was a chance Aragorn would pass out before it was all over. Riding the pain out simply wouldn't work with this sort of wound.

Legolas said quietly as he kept his eyes locked on the ugly deranged joint. "I think I can replace it. But I do not think you will be able to remain conscious. It has been left untended far too long." Aragorn noticed Legolas' hands were drawn and shaking slightly as they rested lightly on the shoulder. However it was from hunger and mounting weakness, not fear. Legolas was beyond fear at the moment.

Aragorn drew a heavy breath that hurt his battered chest and Legolas could have sworn he had felt it rattle as it entered the weary lungs. Glancing down at the man's chest and torso, where the torment had chiefly been delivered, Legolas noticed it looked uglier than his own, though that was to be expected since he healed faster (though even that was rather slowed). But, he smiled inwardly, at least the men had been 'good enough' not to even consider using whips of any kind yet. But how long could that last? Experience told him not to trust this would last forever and to keep his hopes of getting through this time without feeling the cruel smack of a whip at a minimum.

"Legolas," whispered the ranger, now that no one was around to hear the Elf's real name. "Are you sure? You don't have to try if you don't want to."

"Don't even try to talk me out of it," Legolas growled under his breath as he removed his hand and sized up the wound once more, deciding on exactly how the intense procedure should be carried out.

Aragorn knew that Legolas' warning or more like threatening-advice, was legitimate and he had known the Elf long enough to understand that crossing him in these kind of situations was not the wisest nor the more rational thing one could do…if he wished to _live_. However if he had a death wish he should keep traveling that road. Biting his lower lip in frustration at knowing the pain he was about to experience and not being able to evade it after already going through so much, Aragorn allowed reluctantly, "very well. But try to leave me with some arm left when you have finished," he teased with a weak grin meant to try and make the moment less intense than it was.

Legolas nodded slowly and in deep thought as he continued to plan out how things were going to turn out. But of course, in these sort of unfortunate circumstances, plans, even the most guarded and thought out, often went awry. And really, Legolas had heard that your initial thoughts and plans were usually correct or the best choice. So pushing aside his debate, the prince glanced nervously at his friend and resisted a want to gulp in anxiety.

O0O0O0O0

The captain sat at the table rather stiffly as he stared at the food on the white porcelain plate set before him by one of the many slaves of Dorrag's household. He had strangely lost his appetite, no, not strangely, it wasn't really any surprise at all. After seeing the blood and general gore down below he didn't think he would be eating for some time to come.

Of course, it wasn't really the gore or the blood, but whom the gore and blood belonged to. He had never had a true problem with tormenting prisoners before, but perhaps, after years of this type of career, his conscience, the small voice he had so long pushed aside, was returning with a vengeance. _You are an absolutely worthless idiot!_ it chided non-too gently. And he had to agree.

But then he frowned inwardly. His career was _not_ the usage of the finer points in tormenting anyone. He was a soldier, a warrior, honorable, strong, and dignified. So he had to ask himself, as he had so often before, why had he allowed himself to fall so low?

Unable to answer the question and not wanting to debate it within himself anymore he merely inclined his head as he looked up at his host. "My lord, you serve a gracious table."

"And this is poor fare," boasted Dorrag regretfully. "But we are at war." He gestured his salves and servants away so he and his captain could discuss things without ears all about.

"Yes, lord," answered the Haradrim officer levelly as he continued to stare at his plate darkly. He just didn't feel hungry. Another thought touched his mind and didn't help to encourage his appetite. It was no secret and he and Dorrag didn't see eye to eye and it was also no secret that Dorrag was not beyond murder and assassinations. The food could be poisoned.

"Why do you not eat?" inquired Dorrag as he took a bite of the roasted pig on his plate. His eyes watched Darcíl's reaction closely, looking for a sign of mistrust or uneasiness.

"I seem to have lost my appetite," explained Darcíl as politely as he could, though he was not really in the mood to be questioned about his health or doings that evening. He looked darkly and conspiratorially at the two great hounds that his lord had near at hand. They were beautiful creatures, slender and muscular. He knew they were used in hunting fugitives as well as deer.

"Doe it have anything to do with conditions things have undergone below?" asked Dorrag with a small frown or misgiving and displeasure and a single brow arched in skepticism.

"No, my lord. It is more a matter of timing, I think. Your concern is appreciated, but really I think I am well..." he commenced to try and ward off his liege's suspicious probing to the best of his ability. If the Haradrim prince sensed the slightest weakness he would not hesitate to have him assassinated or even publicly executed along side his family.

Darcíl's dark eyes scanned his lord's face for signs of anger or suspicion that could prove fatal. Finding none visible…yet, the Haradrim captain shifted his feet quietly and uneasily beneath the table, making tranquil rustling noises against the stone floor with their soles.

"As you like, Captain," answered Dorrag with a unmistakably false shrug. Or at least, that was how Darcíl thought of it. The Haradrim prince sighed dramatically as he looked into his captain's darkened eyes seriously, with a nearly grave look to their glimmer. "So have we learned anything new from the…guests."

"Not a thing," Darcíl answered cautiously as he narrowed his orbs and knitted his brows with concern towards his liege's mood and where this small talk conversation was talking them.

"Pity.. well, not really," Dorrag reproached as he thought things over. "But it is still a problem. We need to kill them soon or the momentum our example will make will diminish to nothing. Captain, you recall what I told you…"

"My lord, they are not regular prisoners!" Darcíl nearly begged for his liege's understanding, which he hated with passion right now. His eyes flashed and he stood up to address his prince. "That Elf has been put through a lot today and at most we could get a muffled scream or two and then he blacked out or clamped his jaw shut!" Darcíl sighed and spoke wearily, "he seems to continue to draw a new strength from somewhere."

"Elves have their gods, the Valar, well perhaps he draws strength from them," suggested Dorrag as he watched his captain curiously.

"We cannot touch his soul-"

"Can't we?" an evil glint came into Dorrag's eyes and he nodded even as his most trusted officer gaped before him in shock. "We can, trust me. Put him through enough and we can do whatever we want. He will pretend to be strong but in the end he will fall, or the ranger will. It is my belief that if he disavows his gods then he will lose the strength he thinks he has."

"He has been through things that would break an ordinary man," protested Darcíl with more heat than he had initially wanted but it didn't seem to change matters.

"Has the ranger?" asked the Haradrim prince, his eyes turning back to a cool shade, giving him an eerie facade of sereneness that seemed filled with deceit and a hidden malice.

"Not exactly, my lord." Darcíl was afraid this answer would tip the scales in his liege's thus far amused disposition. It seemed to have no affect, at least openly. Standing uneasily, the Haradrim captain stared at the floor and then raised his chin slightly, showing he was still in disagreement.

"There lies our answer, Captain," proposed Dorrag as he wiped his mouth on a napkin. "You should have done this a long time ago," he reprehended sharply, drumming his fingers against the table in irritation with no particular rhythm.

"There is one more thing I must tell you, my lord," approached Darcíl cautiously after his appraisal and rebuke. Dorrag nodded and the captain of Harad continued. "The water has flooded below. I do not know how strong the prisons are. We must move the prisoners. I fear their escape or if some part caves, I fear their deaths. If they are desperate enough they could collapse the dungeons and not only take their own lives but cripple us as well."

"How high has the water risen?" asked Dorrag with keen interest as new fears jumbled themselves in his head and he began the weary task of trying to sort them into justified fears and worthless ones.

"It is beginning to get above the ankles," informed Darcíl anxiously. "I do not trust them not to use it to their advantage." Militarily speaking, he would have found a way to get free by now and if he had men with him they would be getting out as well. It was getting on his nerves that this Elf and this ranger had no yet tried. Perhaps it was because they were to busy staying alive or perhaps they had forgotten. But he suspected that they knew they could use it to their advantage and were abiding their time until the opportune moment to strike and break out or destroy them.

Thunder rumbled as though on cue, making the situation seem even more grave. Lightning flickered in the room as it reflected from outside and Dorrag sighed in deep thought. He could not allow them to escape under any circumstances. And if they killed themselves here, then they would be martyrs. But the sudden thought that if he put them to death they would appear as martyrs suddenly crossed his dark train of thinking. He could not have that. It could bring a cause for the Elf-friends to use as a bonding tie that would unite them against him. And yet without putting the Elf and ranger to death he would never rise to power.

These thoughts were temporarily pushed aside as he heard a tap at the door and muttered a testy, "enter."

"My lord," an unsure voice asked carefully. Darcíl watched the young messenger carefully and with a glare on his face. "Captain," the younger mortal addressed him in turn with a curt bow to both of his superiors. "Prince Dorrag, your father sends word from his campaign in the North." Dorrag nodded expectantly. "All goes well with him and he will be here within the next few months."

"Thank you," responded Dorrag coolly. False joy showed in his face and he smiled. But the light never touched even the lower rims of his eyes and they actually seemed to darken. "You may be on your way."

As soon as the young messenger had left, the prince turned to his guards and said, "make sure he never leaves these palace grounds. Dispose correctly of the body." Nodding, they sprang away from their posts to commit their liege's bidding or lose their lives in consequence.

Darcíl pretended not to be appalled and really he wasn't in too much shock. He had known about this side of Dorrag for quite some time, since one of his messengers never came back he had figured that this had been his fate. Now he knew for sure and keeping a uncaring façade on his features he tried to disguise his displeasure with the disagreeable situation.

"Sorry captain," apologized Dorrag grimly as though the business disgusted him as well.

Darcíl nodded, "I understand, my lord. Now what of the Elf and ranger? Shall I have them moved?"

"Indeed, but do not do it until tomorrow. Let them have their little reprieve. Tomorrow will be different."

O0O0O0O0O

Legolas wiped the cold sweat form his brow with the back of his swollen hand as he gazed at Aragorn's waxen face. He was out cold, having passed out halfway through the tedious process of relocating his shoulder joint. Legolas himself was now glistening with sweat from the extent of his energy use in getting the tricky bone back into its proper place.

Aragorn had taken it rather bravely for a human, he told himself. The ranger had hardly cried out though his face had frequently changed colors from a white consistency to a green and then to a grey one. It wold have been amusing had the circumstances been anywhere near resembling desirable, mused Legolas as he shifted Aragorn so the man was resting in his lap and not in the frigid water that was slowly rising to an even more uncomfortable height.

It was not up to their knees but in the deeper places above uneven ground it was three fourths of the way there, the Elf noted grimly as he scooted with his blacked out friend against the wall. Sleep was impossible and so he wasn't even going to try. Besides, he didn't trust Aragorn not to fall into the water and drown.

His weakness that he was experiencing was disturbing yet it was fully expected. He was being starved and brutally tortured, what else was he supposed to expect from this plight? He had seen his share of pain before so this was nothing new, just another adventure Aragorn had dragged him into that they both were going to have a great deal of trouble coming out of. But even though he knew all of this and more beside it was still annoying and the pangs in his gut were beginning to hurt just enough to be considered painful.

He began to wonder if it would better if he was dead. If he was dead then he was no longer of use to them and thus they would not need to know his name and Aragorn would not need to be put through torment anymore. But he had a sinking suspicion that Aragorn might be put to torment anyway because these men were cruel, selfish and had ice water for blood in their veins.

Having not seen his father or Rothinzil in two years he began to wonder what was transpiring back at his home. The strange want to get up and pace about the cell came to his mind and if he had not been keeping the self appointed task of keeping Aragorn's face and upper half out of the water so the man would not drown, the Elf might have paced a little. For some reason it was a comfort and he didn't know why.

But then again, in water it might not be as much of a comfort as he would like to think. One of the many things that got on his nerves was slushy boots and right now there was plenty of that going on.

Looking with boredom at his friend's wounds, Legolas took in the dark, blotches on Aragorn's chest and back. Bruises deep bruises that had to have reached the bones. They were even tinted red in some places were the ruptured blood vessels were especially close to the skin. There were also puncture wounds in his torso that were crusted over with dried blood.

In these dark, wet, and dreary conditions Legolas sent a silent prayer to the Valar that they would not get infected and that his friend wouldn't die of some strange disease that so often captured mortals' under these treacherous conditions.

Sighing and leaning back against the wet stone wall, Legolas closed his eyes and muttered, _"Ed' i'ear ar' elenea! Tua amin Manwë!_" He needed all the help he could get to face what he knew was coming. He knew what he was going to be forced to listen to tomorrow; he knew what horrible things he would face he knew that there was a sparse chance he might now be strong enough.

**Translations: **

_Ed' i'ear ar' elenea!_ By the sea and stars!

_Tua amin_ _Manwë_ Help me Manwë!

**TBC……Well that was an interesting chapter we suppose. Unfortunately there was no true cliffie. But we will come up with a truly mean one when you least expect it. Trust us. **

**Please review. We love those so much (huggles reviewers). They make posting such an enjoyable experience. **


	10. The Beast

_**CHAPTER TEN**_

The Beast

The large purple bruise just over Lord Glorfindel's right eyebrow was exceptionally hilarious. And it was also rather satisfying how the eye beneath it was not fully open as the swelling spread down to the eye lid and created a rather lopsided glare, Erestor decided with am amused smirk adorning his lips in the form of a small smile. Nearly laughing at the other's well-deserved plight, the adviser, said in a suppressed voice, "that is an ugly bruise…looks good on you though. "

He wasn't going to snicker, he wasn't going to snicker, and he wasn't going to…

"Go ahead and laugh yourself half to death…everybody else did!" seethed Glorfindel as his eyes narrowed in glistening slits of blue flame that kindled brightly. His golden brows were knitted tightly together in notable aggravation. Obviously he was on the verge of perpetrate a murder or two without any immediate regrets. And knowing Glorfindel the way he did, Erestor imagined that he was at the top of the golden-haired Elf's 'maul slowly' list.

Erestor simply let his smile broaden as he thought of these things before suddenly sniggering loudly, which turned into an all out roar of laughter as he stepped backwards, rocking back on the heel of his farthest foot. Glorfindel, he told himself silently, was going to kill him.

Glorfindel looked at the mountains beyond the window, afraid that if he watched Erestor laugh at him much longer he would choke him within an inch of his life and if he went that far he might as well finish it off because afterwards Erestor's retaliation was not something he wished to endure. That stuck up, nosey, stiff, dull, boring, devious excuse for an Elf-lord was not as stupid as he would have liked and actually had quite a cruel mind when he chose to use it. Glorfindel was sure Elrond was fully aware of this and that was why Erestor was in the position he was in. Glorfindel, along with the rest of Rivendell knew that even though Elrond Peredhil was kind at heart, he also had a slightly devious and insane side that could come up with some very…interesting…forms of retribution. Of course, Elrond claimed he never sought revenge, but Glorfindel was convinced otherwise.

Growling under his breath he glared at Erestor, "you can stop now. It wasn't _that_ funny!"

"Your right…it wasn't _that_ funny, it was _that_ funny that it happened to _you_!" chuckled the adviser as Elrond came in, carrying some sort of vile smelling herbal poultice. Glorfindel noticed with a disgruntled frown that the twins were hot on his friend's heals, keeping their distance and smirking all the while. At some point he was going to have to end that laughter dancing in their eyes. And wiping that smirk off would be a bonus too.

Elrond placed the small wooden bowl by Glorfindel and dipped a cloth into the ointment before preparing to set it against the relatively small but ugly welt accumulating on his golden-haired friend's forehead. Even the Lord of Rivendell could not hide a smile. But he was thinking of Glorfindel standing before the Lady Galadriel and the Lord Celeborn with the knot on his head.

Glorfindel jerked his head back abruptly and protested, "that stinks! What ever did you put in there?" he asked, aghast. His nose wrinkled as he inhaled some of the sickening fumes. Glaring at his dark-haired friend, the blonde Elf winced as his raised voice caused his head to throb sharply for a moment before the pain faded away temporarily. He could have sworn seconds ago that the world was spinning around him in odd merging images…

"I put things that are good for you in there. It will reduce the swelling, if you want to know and ease the pain…"

"I am fine. Never better," argued Glorfindel as he tried to stand up from his sitting position on the edge of a bed in the healing ward. Everything blurred, Glorfindel noticed irritably, and it took a few seconds to reasonably clear up.

"Would you rather I get an Elf-maiden healer in here to take care of you and make you take a nap in front of my sons?" he asked as he raised a brow and watched Glorfindel's appalled face with keen eyes. Holding the cloth near Glorfindel's face, the Lord of Imladris commanded sternly, "let it sooth you."

Erestor stood in the corner, looking smug as he thumbed through pages in his book. Dark pieces of hair hung in his face and he brushed them aside before looking up, grinning at Glorfindel and shaking his head before chuckling again. Glorfindel frowned even more darkly and hoped that if Erestor were going to laugh this much that he would laugh himself sick. Now _that_ would be funny. Or what would be even more amusing, delightful even, would be if he choked to death on a laugh.

Elladan and Elrohir exchanged very amused and identical glances as they watched Glorfindel jerk slightly when the cloth touched the bruise. Having been through such antagonizing and humiliating treatments themselves, they were an expert when it came to knowing exactly what the golden-haired warrior was experiencing. But that only served to make it all the more catching to their interests.

When Elrond was finished he pressed Glorfindel back down and said, "you must rest until the world stops spinning." Glorfindel tried to look innocent and completely confused, but it was pointless. He managed to get the completely confused part minus the innocence. "When you thought you were looking at me, you were looking at the door post, or relatively close. Mellon nin, I think you are seeing double," Elrond accused, not being able to hold back a small snigger, even with all his years of experience.

"Me?" asked Glorfindel virtuously and curiously all at once.

"Do you see anyone else who nearly got his skull fractured by getting to know a tree a little better?" asked Elrond wryly as he cleaned up his supplies, watching Glorfindel with verbatim for escape attempts from the corner of his eye.

"None in particular," answered Glorfindel with a wince as his headache continued to throb and he felt hazy. Small frown returning to his face, the Gondolin Elf nodded and said, "I guess I do need a slight rest. But I want to be in my own room. Healers make me nervous." Realizing in whose presence he had just spoken, Glorfindel flushed slightly and finished lamely, "but you're an exception, my old friend.'

"I don't know whether to take that as a complement or…" from the glare Glorfindel was shooting at Elrond, the Lord of Imladris figured the rest apparently need not be said. Smiling he said like he was soothing a child who was having a temper tantrum, "now lay down and get some rest. You have to begin your travel to Lorien in a few days."

The reminder of that aggravating trip to come did Glorfindel's mood no favors and a small snicker escaping Elrohir's lips in the corner was not exactly accommodating to the situation either. Glorfindel all but whined, "I do not need rest, I simply need time alone…"

"Rest," Elrond said firmly as he pressed on Glorfindel's broad shoulders when the Balrog-Slayer had attempted to rise and walk out. Glancing over his shoulders he called to the chief adviser, "Erestor, please gather my sons out and yourself as well." He knew all too well that the twins were not helping and Erestor's smirking was only serving to make Glorfindel's temper flare.

"Lord Elrond, I can't believe you would do this to me…"

"What? Try to heal you?" asked Elrond in a voice that sounded suspiciously like laughter was building up in his voice. He smiled as Glorfindel rolled his bright blue eyes and sighed in exasperation.

"You know what I meant!" he seethed as Elrond continued to hold his shoulders and try to calm him down. Glorfindel's voice became a lethal hiss. "Especially in front of them." He gave a gesture with his eyes towards the healers standing by watching with helpless laughter as one of their lords was being forced to more or less take a nap like a little Elfling. Most of the healers being maidens, of course.

Elrond gave a small frown as he realized that humiliating Glorfindel before these maiden healers whom he was sure that one or two attracted his friend's attention, was not a good idea, at least if _he_ wanted to live. He gestured to them with his hand to leave and then he looked back at Glorfindel. Gesturing his head towards the door he asked, "better?"

Glorfindel smiled and then tried to rise again, taking advantage of Elrond's minute distraction. It was a wasted attempt and Elrond smiled, "nice try. My sons are better than that."

Glorfindel sat back against the pillows, finally giving up as his headache pulsed violently and the room seemed to swirl. He groaned and then growled, "I might lay here, but I refuse to sleep."

"Don't make me drug you. I really don't want to do that…again."

"You have never drugged me!" protested Glorfindel, sitting up with alarm.

"Then please do not make me start now," plead Elrond as he began to walk out, not caring to argue. His look was one of weariness and amusement. However, Glorfindel could tell that Elrond was tiring of this arguing.

Glorfindel looked at Elrond with an expression consisting of nothing but seriousness when he spoke in a quiet tone; "you miss Estel." It had been two years after all and anyone in Rivendell could say that on one occasion or another that had heard his or her lord up late at night, pacing and muttering to himself. As Glorfindel looked closer he could tell that Elrond's eyes were tired and slightly red-rimmed.

"Glorfindel, lets not talk about it," Elrond suggested somewhat maliciously as he turned to leave. He drew a heavy breath and then stopped as he thought about where his foster son was right then. Two years was a long time, even if you were an Elf, two years was a long time to never see someone you cared for and not hear a single thing from them as to their whereabouts. He had never thought time could truly move so slowly or make him feel so tired.

"No, we are going to talk about it, mellon nin," Glorfindel promised as he stared at his old friend's back with sharp eyes. Elrond thought he could feel himself getting run though by their intensity.

Elrond turned around and said calmly, "I am going to leave you to get your rest." He turned to leave and as he did Glorfindel called out after him in a promising tone.

"Very well, but we will talk about it!"

OIO

Elrohir was bored.

He had been sitting in the same place for more than two hours and could find simply nothing else to count, study, glare at or ogle at that he hadn't already done something to ten times over or more. He had honestly lost track. His dark hair hung over his shoulders and he flipped it back with annoyance. The small frown on his face spelled trouble with capital letters, but no one was paying enough attention to read it.

Elladan was perched on a windowsill that made a very interesting and oddly comfortable roost. His had an arm draped across a single knee and one leg dangling down to the floor as he gazed out with bored grey eyes to the gardens, watching the maidens sniff, pick, plant and trim the flowers and other various sorts of plants. It had been amusing at first, but to him maidens and flowers were only so exciting. Every now and then an occasional bee would buzz around the Elven women's sweet smelling hair and they would get annoyed or alarmed and cause him to smile, but other than that it was about as dull as watching paint dry. Actually, as far as his living memory went there had been a time when watching paint dry was far more intriguing. It wasn't that these maidens were ugly, not at all! It was the exact opposite, they were like slightly less fair versions of his sister but with height, build, hair and eye color differences.

He smiled at the memory of Glorfindel walking right into a tree only a few hours ago. He honestly wished he had gone in the room and tormented the golden-haired Elf just a little. But he had learned at a young age that you didn't tease Glorfindel and live to feel wicked satisfaction about it afterwards, much less gloat. And if you couldn't do that there really was no point. Unless there was some fun in standing before Mandos and while rattling off a list of things you had done, irritating Glorfindel, whom Mandos had sent back mind you, was a good thing.

But then again, Erestor often drove Glorfindel to beyond the insane point he had already reached some _yén_ ago. And somehow the raven-haired counselor lived to tell the tale before he found himself to be the center of a carefully planned prank of Glorfindel's. It had to be because deep down inside they enjoyed torturing each other, Elladan decided with a laugh that he honestly hadn't known had been out loud.

"Care to enlighten me as to what is so funny?" asked Elrohir dryly as he cocked his head minutely and looked at Elladan with a curious expression. "Brother, it is impolite to chuckle to yourself before others' presence, you know."

Elladan smiled broadly and said, "I just was recalling Glorfindel's little…"

"…Misadventure," finished Elrohir for his identical brother with a light laugh of his own. "Yes, indeed, that was a rare occurrence, refreshing if it was nothing else." A small burst of laughter erupted again and Elrohir didn't try to stifle it.

"I couldn't agree more," said Elladan wistfully as he looked out the window and sighed. He was really becoming bored now, even though his little laugh had been invigorating, it had been temporary at best. The day was slightly hotter than others were and the air was thick, making it easy for one to fall asleep. It was easy to do that in Rivendell anyway, if you weren't an Elf, and sometimes even if you were. It had to draw from a heavy feeling of safety and sereneness that was inescapable.

Elrohir stretched out sideways in the chair, dangling his long legs over one of the arm rests casually. He clicked his boot heels against the side of the piece of beautiful furniture absentmindedly. Elladan turned around and glared a moment before saying, "Ada would kill you if he saw you sitting in one of our oldest piece's of furniture thus." He narrowed his eyes and then turned them back out the window, watching the wind ruffling the delicate leaves.

Elrohir merely raised a brow and looked at the chair beneath him incredulously. "The oldest?"

"Well if you disregard the one you broke last yén…" Elladan chided impassively as he watched Wilwarin intently. She was so swift and delicate on her feet and her eyes… But he knew he couldn't rebuild their broken relationship. They were friends only, though they were close in that regard.

Elrohir saw the sloppy and absorbed look slipping into his brother's eyes and a smile crept across his face. Still sitting like a homeless and sloppy vagrant, the younger twin said smoothly as he watched Elladan's narrowed eyes, "Ada says I get your room too and you have to sleep out on the balcony."

After waiting moments all was still silent.

But Elrohir was persistent and to say he was _very_ amused wouldn't be a lie either.

"Word reached Ada that Estel has met his doom and that you are needed in the Lonely Mountain to delegate a meeting between the people of Dale and Dain's trusty people…"

Elladan nodded dryly and said in an absorbed voice, "that's good," before stammering, "-what!" Glancing back over his shoulder at his younger brother who was grinning like a daft lemur he started, "Elrohir! …You…I…that was mean…"

"And funny too…"

"I protest: it was not."

"Oh, but it was!" Elrohir laughed.

Elladan just shot his brother, who was laughing with a renowned hysteria, a scathing glare and his eyes turned to slits of annoyance. "Looks like you aren't so bored anymore," he commented tightly as he watched Elrohir lean back and stare at him from an upside down position, all his blood rushing to his face. "You look like an idiot."

Elrohir obviously didn't hear him, or at least gave no sign of such comprehension and continued with his frenzied laughter.

His reddening face and chuckles were amusing Elladan and he leaned back to laugh heartily.

But there was a slight problem…

There was nothing to lean back against.

Brief confusion, surprise, fright and humiliation crossed over Elladan's face in less than the three seconds he was up on the windowsill and felt himself plummeting downwards the entire seven feet that separated the window from the ground. Nothing was beneath him.

Things might have been terrible but the thorn bush below covered with large bright yellow roses broke the fall. No problem really, except that there were dozens of the barbs and stickers pricking his skin just in places where he was unable to reach. They were in his hair, scratching his face, pricking his fingers and ripping his clothing as he struggled before realizing that it was pointless and he might as well just relax.

But that was impossible and he felt his face turning white and then scarlet, as he became the center of the Elf-maidens' hysterical laughter. It wasn't that funny, he thought as he watched Wilwarin leaning on Ivrin and giggling helplessly. Her musical voice would have been welcome any other time, however it was at his loss this particular moment and he felt his face burning.

Elrohir leaned over the edge of the window and smiled down at his twin once he realized with all certainty that nothing of Elladan's was hurt other than his dignity. Grinning like a fool again, the younger twin called down, "got a thing for yellow roses have you? I like the red ones myself…"

Glancing up at his younger brother, who had made a grave mistake, the eldest son of Elrond smiled twistedly and snarled back up in a thick voice, "I've heard the thorns on yellow roses were less painful to the touch."

"Really?" taunted Elrohir as he leaned over the edge of the windowsill and placed one booted foot upon its edge as he looked down on the dark-haired and livid Noldo below.

The maidens smiled. This was interesting not to mention rare and more than laughable.

"Come down here and I will prove to you they are not," Elladan seethed as he struggled to untangle himself once more, only becoming more caught up in the painful vegetation that he was lying helpless in.

"I will take your word for it," Elrohir chuckled as he stepped back into the room and began to jog out of the chamber and into the decorated corridors.

Their father was going to be more than angry and it was for more than one reason, perhaps more than two. Yes, it would be about three reasons, Elrohir concluded. "First of all," he told himself openly. "Elladan shouldn't have been sitting on the windowsill; secondly, Ada loved that bush; thirdly, those thorns have some kind of slight venom in their barbs. Elladan's face will be swelled up to at least twice its size for at least this evening and maybe the majority of tomorrow morning."

"Have you taken to talking to yourself, then?" asked a soft voice that Elrohir recognized almost immediately. It still sounded smug and strangely like the mind behind it was scheming deviously.

"Erestor, I may be insane at times…but not that insane," Elrohir stopped walking and stared with a smile lurking on his mouth. Erestor gave him a questioning look and that was all it took for Elrohir to nearly lean on him and gasp between laughs, "Elladan fell out the window and landed on Ada's rose bush!"

Erestor smiled, knowing the named bush. Giving a whimsical laugh of his own, the raven-haired counselor nodded, "does your father have any idea?" he asked, feeling stupid as soon as the question had left his lips.

"The house is still standing and Elladan is still alive," Elrohir advised as to the mood Elrond would be in once he discovered that not only had Glorfindel managed to get himself into some sort of mischief and get hurt in the process, but now Elladan had killed the pride and joy of the gardens. And too top that off, he had a short lasting venom in his veins. Not a one could say that this day had been uneventful.

"Today has been rather…amusing," Erestor said as he grinned broadly and tucked a blue book under his arm as he pulled a wrinkled and dog-eared piece of paper out of it. Ah, here was that threat Glorfindel had written so long ago. It was one of those things treasured so you could flaunt it in the other's face and say, "you still have yet to do this'!

"You would think so, wouldn't you?" Elrohir said as he began to walk (nearly joyously) towards his father's study. A rather stupid thing to do, but he could not help but feeling slight playful after Elladan's little spill.

O0O0O0O0O0O

Legolas wriggled further against the farthest corner of this dreary new cell. It was dry, at least that was a bonus, but he felt strangely homesick and it wasn't for his home where his father was. It had to be the blood of his that still lingered in the water and floor stones of the former prison that made him want to go back. Which was ironic and rather disturbing, the Elf realized dryly.

But that was not his real problem, he told himself in the dark as he placed his chin on his knees and resisted the want to rock back and forth like a frightened Elfling.

No, you fool, just don't think about it.

As if on cue a broken cry rose up and hung a moment in the damp air of the darkness and Legolas cringed and banged against the stone walls despairingly with his fist. It should be himself in there, bleeding and screaming but it was his friend, his friend who had nothing against him other than the fact that he knew his name. It made Legolas more than angry…it made him livid.

Darcíl had to miss his appointment with them today for reasons unbeknownst to Legolas and so it was Sarchel doing the interrogations. Sarchel the cruel, Sarchel the possessed, Sarchel the cold-hearted monster. Legolas would give up his immortality for chance to wring that sick coward's scrawny neck with his bare hands.

One of the guards outside looked in and smiled coldly at the chained Elf who was trying to shrink into the walls. "I am sure if you go ahead and speak your name then Sarchel will go a bit easier on your friend in there…he might even stop."

"Leave me alone," Legolas commanded impassively as he rubbed his head with his trembling and aching hands. Not that he expected the men to actually give him some space and down time, but it was worth a try. Wincing at the pain in his hands, he shook his head inwardly. Sarchel had scene it fit to put him through the paces once more before moving on to the ranger.

He had dislocated two of Legolas' fingers again and it was shockingly worse the second time he had done than it had been the first. Legolas had bit his lip to keep from letting a shivering scream he felt bubbling up tear out of his throat. But that had taken a lot more effort than he had thought and now he felt so drained it was unbelievable.

The darkness had taken a strong toll on the Elf and his face was sallow and waxen. Dark rings wrapped themselves about his eyes in broadening patches and if it were not for the glitter in them one would have thought that they were non-existent. His features were drawn in constant pain, passionate and tangible. In all fairness he looked a lot like a sick raccoon, or at least that had been the comparison Aragorn had made. Not that _that_ particular analogy and equivalence made him feel any better, but it was something to think about.

The chains on his wrists and ankles that had to be used to help with the oliphaunts were far lighter than the chains he felt binding his broken heart. He placed his forehead on his knees and closed his eyes as his sharp hearing picked up the minute cry of pain from Aragorn that was quickly stifled. He wished his hearing was dulled once more but it had finally been fully restored on this day. Why? Why did it have to be this day? He didn't know but he wished he did. But for now, he would have to accept it as one of life's crueler and more painful mysteries. Any other given day he would have been extremely and unconditionally grateful to receive it back, but now he wished he were completely deaf. And being an Elf that was one of the more bizarre things he could pray for.

The guard continued to smile and Legolas felt it throughout he darkness, like a cold spike piercing his awareness. It added to his list of reasons to slay every person living here. Flexing his fingers, he imagined himself strangling them slowly and watching their eyes as he told them his name and made sure they stopped breathing before he let them go. An unnatural bloodthirsty feeling began to bubble up inside of him for a moment -but only a moment -then common sense brought him back.

Suddenly a cry fractured the air and Legolas felt tears in his eyes and a sob came quietly up from his throat that he did his best to hide from the guards not wanting his pride to suffer more than it absolutely had to. He could not describe himself with any other word other than 'lamentable' with the possible exception of 'wretched'. His life seemed to have reached its lowest ebb. He knew it was hard to believe but he would much rather be in there, taking the pain and the taunting than listen to this; his friend's anguished cries. He was helpless, both of them were and it made Legolas furious at himself, this place, these people and at everything, even the ell they were being held in. Especially the cell -it kept him from his friend's side when Aragorn's situation was most dire.

With bitter suffering the Elf remembered the time when he had been trapped and the men of Aragorn's platoon had cared less, hoping he would die. Legolas' weapon had some how been knocked from his grasp and he was being pulled down by enemies encircling him, planning to slay him cruelly with maces.

Legolas' tears splattered on the stones that covered the floor.

He had been out there alone and the arrows were flying and he was about to die. But Aragorn had come back for him, to save him. Risking being pounded into he dust by the truncheons the ranger had come by his side and watched his back until he managed to find a weapon and back to back they had fought their way out.

Now when he needed Legolas, Legolas could not be with him. Chains and pain held him back and the cell bars did a good job of that in and of themselves.

It was almost more than the Elven prince could bear.

Legolas suddenly felt with detached awareness an acute stab of guilt that was rising in his heart. He had just left this father without an explanation or even so much as a farewell. Now he might never have the chance to say, "Father you are my hero. Don't you know you are the wind beneath my wings?" This was an unnecessary memory and it only served to add to injury but he couldn't suppress it. It was all he had left of home and his heart craved it, like a flower craving water in a desert or wasteland.

_"Legolas, you have to begin to recognize, your people need you too," Thranduil chided his son none-too-gently as he placed his hands on Legolas' shoulders. His eyes were narrowed in a rising amount of anger. _

_"Father, Estel is going out there, to Harad and Gondor's Deep South by himself, he needs help. Elladan and Elrohir cannot go with him," protested Legolas adamantly. The angry glint in his eyes could not be mistaken for anything else other than an agitated fire. _

_"Legolas, your loyalty is here first." _

_"Father, perhaps if I went with him, I could find a way to aid the war you and I both know we are losing. The borders along Dol Guldur are too dangerous for our folk to be traversing," Legolas argued rationally. "I will come back. I promise you." _

_"Living without you forever is an awful long time, my little Greenleaf," Thranduil said with a weary sigh and said in a shaking voice as his emotions struggled to take control, "I expressly forbid you to leave." _

_"Father!" Legolas seethed in as respectful a voice as he could bring himself to use. "I am an adult-"_

_"You are less than a full age old!" Thranduil growled back over his shoulder as he turned his back on his son, who took a step after him. _

_"Elladan and Elrohir are allowed to-" _

_"Well they are not my pride and joy, are they?" asked the Elvenking as he turned around and glared at his child who was giving him a scowl as dark as any storm from Mordor might have been. "It is not my business what Elrond allows his children to do! My responsibilities are to keep you safe first." _

_"By keeping me in a cage?" Legolas asked bitterly as he clenched his hands at his sides. He felt his anger rising even though he knew it was horribly disrespectful and wrong. He just could not help it. "My world is bigger than that!" _

_"Now you go too far!" The elder blonde Elf all but yelled as Legolas' face hardened in anger fueled tenacity. _

_"No, no, I am old enough to make some decisions on my own!" _

_"Legolas, I am not beyond locking you up until you recover your senses!"_

Legolas didn't remember anymore. He didn't remember the ending and he certainly didn't have the slightest recollection of how the entire tirade had started. How he regretted it. Not that he had left but that he had treated his father thus. It had been so horribly wrong. He was so desperate to fix things that if there had been a way to go back in time he would have been the one to find it then.

But now it was too late, two years too late. He now knew what kind of pain his family must be in. They had no idea what had befallen him and if Legolas had to take his own life he would keep it that way. It would pain his father to know his fate now and he would rather die than know that his father had too see him die or know that he had to be broken before the Haradrim could deliver the message to the Great Halls.

Then he remembered faithful and sweet Rothinzil. His dark-haired friend would be crushed. And Rothinzil was mortal now, if he stayed here forever, Rothinzil would die alone, foresight told Legolas Helluin would die first and Roth would follow of a broken heart. There would be no comfort for the mortal Elf and that troubled Legolas greatly to say the least.

'Sorry' didn't begin to describe Legolas' thoughts at this moment. He couldn't think of a word equal to his unquenchable misery. If there was one, it had to be painful to breathe it in a minute whisper of despair and he couldn't think of any that were like that in Quenya, Sindar, Common Tongue, Black Speech, Rohirram or the language of the Dwarves.

He heard Aragorn's broken breathing in the silence of the prison fading out into nothing.

As the prince buried his face in his arms one of the guards pressed his face up against the bars and asked in a sneer, "are you frightened Elf? Tell me, how do you enjoy listening to your friend?"

Legolas lifted his weary head that felt so heavy he didn't know how it was relatively possible that he was in fact lifting it. It should be lying on the floor, weighing him down with is guilt and pain. His eyes turned cold and he gave the guard such an icy look of pure and unaltered hatred and pity mingled with pain and anger that the man's grip tightened on his spear unconsciously. Who ever thought eyes could get that cold?

"I will make you eat those words later, Edan," Legolas growled levelly. "Someday I will come for you and make you wish you had not said such things. I might be frightened, but it isn't of you or even for myself."

The guard looked at the chains that held the prince to the wall, heavy and considerably massive for anybody to wear. He suspected that they were sufficient for their appointed task but if they weren't then he hoped the cell bars were…Throwing back his head he laughed heartily, "perhaps your ghost will after you are dead," he teased evilly and continued with his uproarious laughter. That was probably the stupidest thing he could have done, because Legolas was going to make a point to tear his throat out at some point.

A smooth and yet viperous voice drifted to Legolas' ears, turning his attention from the guard before his cell. "Are your new accommodations to your liking?" asked Prince Dorrag as he smiled in on Legolas, who looked away angrily. He feared that if he saw that man's ugly, smirking face he would not be able to control himself and might say something that would place he or Aragorn in more danger. If he had one of his twin knives and was free to move about with ready access to that's man's throat he would wipe that smirk off that bovine of a prince's face without a second thought. Actually, if he were free and only had his bear hands, they would be sufficient in and of themselves.

"And we love them so much," Legolas muttered in bitter sarcasm. Rolling his eyes he set his chin on his knees and concentrated his eyes on a stone that was about to pop out of the wall.

Dorrag gave a small frown and then waved the guard away with one small gesticulation. "You look terrible…having a hard time?" he inquired as he leaned against the prison bars leisurely.

"Why don't you ask my friend that?" Legolas asked coldly, still keeping his eyes off of the man that was somehow called a 'prince'. Legolas actually considered that to be an insult. If Dorrag was a prince, then what did that make him?

Legolas refused to look at him, not noticing when Dorrag drew a knife out from beneath the sleeves of his robes. "This is for you," he said as he flipped it through the bars and it landed at Legolas' feet causing the air to resound in a gentle ring of metal on stone. The Elf looked at it with a dark scowl and gave a cold and lifeless chuckle.

"You think I am stupid." This was a statement, not a question. "I may want to escape but I know better than to try and attack you and give your guards reason to spear me." The concept that Dorrag had thought he was that stupid made him feel annoyed. How dumb had he been acting to cause the man to come to such a conclusion? This gave him the impression that this entire place was completely insulting to him.

"On the contrary," Dorrag said as he watched the Elf nudge the knife further away in disgust with the toe of his boot. "I think you are very resourceful and intelligent…'sly' would be a good word to describe you."

"Then it must be you who is insane," Legolas said as he resisted the urge to laugh a heartless laugh. At least Dorrag had given him credit for being intelligent so he had gained that much respect. But Dorrag would learn to respect him for more than that. Legolas would make sure of it.

Dorrag smiled coolly as he watched Legolas raise his head and stare incredulously at him with narrowed eyes. "I am giving you a way out of here…but if you give up your own life you forfeit your friend's as well and I promise you he shall not go as easily as yourself."

"I may be looking for a way out, but I am not suicidal!" Legolas squared his shoulders and raised his chin proudly, "I will see this knife plunged into your heart ere I return home and then I will be free." Legolas was not that desperate and broken. Maybe he had been before…but no longer, simply for the reason it was expected of him. He would give these people _nothing_ that they wanted.

A shattering cry rent the air and Legolas shivered as he wondered what his friend was going through now having some personal experience in that business. He felt hot tears sting his eyes and he resisted the urge to let them burn his cheeks and run in little rivers down his face. Now, more than ever, he missed his father. Two years was a long time when you were miserable.

"Only in your dreams Elf, only in your dreams."

O0O

Just breathe, Aragorn told himself as he leaned back against the wall he was chained to. Just concentrate on breathing. But that was easier said than done, the man concluded darkly as he felt blood run down his face, hot and sticky. Or was it sweat? He couldn't tell the difference any more. He was dehydrated beyond caring, all he knew was that it was more liquid being seeped from his body and draining him of his meager strength. He was surprise he still had a grip on what he did.

Sarchel gripped the human's hand and squeezed it cruelly, causing Aragorn to arch his back in pain as his fingers, dislocated and mutilated as Legolas' had been, were pressed and ground together. He bit back a scream but could not help but close his eyes as he felt the pain swallow up all his mind and nearly his will.

Sarchel watched with twisted pleasure as the man's face went white with the agony of his torture. It was amusing to watch and even more so to deliver. Smiling sickly with a wicked light in his droopy eyes, he watched as Aragorn slowly opened his pain glazed orbs and stared through the mist curtain into his own.

"What has that little Elf done to deserve your unbroken loyalty? You are being tortured and all to protect his name? Who is he that you should hide it so?" Sarchel questioned as he felt Aragorn's sweat amount increase on his palms and he saw the shaking face hat looked translucent. "Go ahead and scream…the Elf did."

He smiled ad knowing smile as he saw Aragorn bite his lip in agony to keep from doing exactly what his captor and tormentor wanted him do to. He knew Legolas could hear him and he knew what the Elf was thinking and what he had already gone through. Legolas shouldn't have to go through anymore.

But that was out of his hands, the ranger reminded himself as he drew in a sharp intake of breath when he came to the realization that he hadn't breathed in some time. It was a miracle he was still conscious. But it was a mixed blessing because right now he wished that he was into black nothingness and could feel nothing.

Sarchel asked again, "what did he ever do to have earned this loyalty? After all, he is only an Elf..."

Aragorn's eyes caught fire and if Sarchel knew what the flames in them meant he would most likely have backed off a few steps. But he was naive and completely clueless as to his captive's deep running wrath so he just laughed.

Aragorn's voce was thick and he spoke slowly as though Sarchel were wholly stupid and hardly knew a word of the Common Tongue. "Only an Elf?" Shaking his head slower than he was speaking the ranger said, "no." His face took on a green tint as he felt like he was going to throw up and pain scored his abdomen.

"No, he is my friend and he wouldn't be here if it weren't for me and my weakness," Aragorn choked out as he felt Sarchel release his fingers and stare at him with a smirk on his face.

"And now he is being tortured, beaten, and mangled, because of you?" asked the crazed Lieutenant as he looked at the blood on his hands, Aragorn's blood. His clothes too were ensanguined from the spurts of blood that had come from the man's torso when the old wounds had reopened. But no, he was wrong, it had come from that wounded shoulder when he had re-probed it.

"Why is that I wonder?" Sarchel asked as he stood back on his heels and watched all the anguished emotion register in Aragorn's tumultuous grey orbs. One was half closed due to some swelling around the lid where a fist had connected with his eye. "Perhaps he is too stupid to know when it is better to give up for his own good…"

"Or perhaps," Aragorn seethed around a set of clenched teeth. "It is that he doesn't take orders from cowardly dogs and insane beasts such as yourself." Realizing that his clenched teeth would only add to injury Aragorn reluctantly loosened their grinding grip and tried to will himself to remain calm. A shiver that he could not suppress started at the end of his spine and ran up all the way to the top of the back of his neck.

Sarchel's eyes glazed over with anger and perverted pleasure all at once. Aragorn could tell he was restraining himself from killing him. The soldier smiled tensely and ice filled his gaze. "Why don't you save your friend and tell us his name. His death is far better than his lingering here, tortured, bleeding and screaming. Or do you enjoy hearing his pain filled cries?"

Aragorn managed to retain the self-control to remain calm and not jerk against his bonds. Being serene when your captor wanted you to go crazy was one of the best defenses and forms of defiance. He just gazed into his tormentor's eyes and asked hoarsely but with a calmness that was eerie and surprised himself, "and dishonor us both? I am no craven and if my friend wants you to know his name, he apparently has a voice, he will tell you."

"Then perhaps he enjoys listening to your cries of pain?" Sarchel asked as he watched Aragorn's face intensively. "Or else why does he remain silent when he could end your pain so fast?"

"Because he is strong," Aragorn said decisively. "And he trusts me not to betray him." But for a moment Aragorn felt a stab of guilt rush through him like a poison as he realized that _he_ might not be strong enough. He was already in horrible pain.

"Does he now? He is strong you say?" Sarchel asked as he fingered a knife he had picked up from a table of other strange instruments and devices in the darker corner of the room. He stared at Aragorn's bloodied torso in disappointment. There wasn't an unmarred patch of skin anywhere that he could see so he could create a new wound. It was a rather unsatisfying feeling. Twirling the knife for a moment, he said, "well I may just have to upgrade the pain a little. Darcíl was a fool. You can endure far more than what he expected and you might fool him, a weak idiot, but you will never fool me."

Stopping the calculated twirling of his blade, the tormentor stabbed swiftly and before Aragorn could blink the knife was buried halfway up to the hilt in his left forearm. Blood spurted from around it and before it was withdrawn the weapon was given a vicious twist.

It was all Aragorn could do to exhale and breathe again. It felt as though his lungs were blocked and being squeezed shut, suffocating him. Closing his eyes as his face obtained an even chalkier color than the last, the man bit back the pain and forced his grey orbs to open slowly and dramatically. They had a retreating film of white pain as he met Sarchel's cruel gaze.

Sarchel smiled and said, "Well that may be, but are you strong enough?" He shook his head wistfully as he imagined seeing the Elf and ranger bowed to his mercy and level of conduct. But then he taunted, "are you strong enough to save both his honor and his life? You know what will happen once his name is known and where he is from is extracted from one of you…"

He watched anger and horror reflect in Aragorn's eyes as began to doubt himself…just a little…He already had been and he felt more than a little frightened that Sarchel of all people had been able to second guess him.

"He will be executed…he and any emissary sent to plead his freedom. And you, ranger, will watch his scrawny little neck break as he falls with a rope around his throat before you yourself are sacrificed just to prove the point…"

Aragorn felt his strength wearing thin as he imagined Legolas dying…and saw his own guilty face after he revealed who his friend was. With every heartbeat his wound pulsed pain mingled with the hot blood that gave the air a coppery tang. His very life force was torturing him.

"But know this," Sarchel said and all cruel playfulness came out of his eyes and was replaced with a deadly fire. "If he weakens to the point of breaking and you are becoming tiresome, you aren't necessary for Dorrag's plans."

Finally, after what appeared to be decades, Aragorn found his voice and said, "you are a sick cur."

"And you haven't seen the half of it, ranger, not even the half of it," Sarchel said as he let the knife fall from his hand carelessly allowing the blade to bang on the floor with a ring that was surprisingly sharp.

Sighing, the dark-haired tormentor said, "this is so boring. All we do is have the same little conversations…but ah; maybe I should get the Elf. Yes, then we can have twice as much fun and games." Sarchel turned to a guard posted by the door of the torture chamber and handed him a set of manacles set with sharp teeth along the inside of the locking rings.

"Bring the Elf," he commanded in a low voice as his eyes watched Aragorn's face for his emotion.

"No!" Aragorn finally burst out and dared to jerk against this bonds as all his own signals of pain fled from his thought. His chains that held him to the wall clinked loudly as he all but begged on his knees, "you can't! You will kill him before you get an answer!"

Panic rose in his heart as he remembered all that Legolas had already been through. He was seriously concerned that his friend might simply surrender his soul to Mandos and leave this world behind. But then again he was worried Legolas would be to stubborn to save himself because he was too loyal for his own good at times and would go the most excruciating distance if it meant being with his friend through the good times and the bad.

"Oh he may wish he would die before he could answer, but trust me, he won't." With a wicked smile Sarchel inquired with laughter in his eyes, "but how do you know that I plan to hurt him? What if it is reversed and he has just to watch you?"

**TBC…OH-HO! Evil cliffie! Please review! Thank you! **


	11. Tomorrow Will be a Miracle

_**CHAPTER ELEVEN **_

Tomorrow will be a Miracle

"_I need you to know our friendship means a lot - If you cry then I cry, if you laugh, I laugh...if you jump out the window I look down then...I laugh again." **–Unknown **_

To say that Elrond was livid could quite possibly be considered an understatement, Elrohir noted grimly as he watched the last of the painful stickers being pulled from Elladan's back that was speckled with tiny little red and inflamed dots where other thorns had been. Elladan winced and grit his teeth as Elrond then proceeded to spread ointment on his pocked back and his scratched arms.

Elrohir resisted the laugh that wanted to be released as he saw a yellow rose petal slip from his brother's long dark hair and float gracefully to the floor. He wondered absentmindedly if there were any other yellow disremembered pieces of flower hidden anywhere in his brother's dark locks.

Glorfindel looked over from his bed and smiled as Elrond finished his administrations and gave Elladan a baleful glare. "You brought this on your own head, you know. And the fact that you managed to crack a rib in the process of destroying my rose bush and deliberately disobeying me is not improving my mood so think well before you speak," cautioned the Lord of Imladris, gesturing for his eldest son to lie down.

Elladan laid down cautiously as he felt his pricked skin burning and his right middle rib throbbed. Wriggling as he tried to get into a comfortable position, the elder of the twins gave his brother a scathing glare and hissed, "this is entirely your fault."

"Too bad you can't prove that," Elrohir whispered back as Elrond briefly turned his back to set something down on the little table by the bed.

"Elrohir," the Lord of Rivendell spoke over his shoulder. "You are out of the forest yet yourself. How many times have I told you to sit correctly in a chair?"

"This year, recently, all together…?" questioned the younger twin until his voice trailed off as he saw his father's angry face turn upon him. "Five times this week," he answered hurriedly and a little ashamedly. He pushed down a slight rose color trying to rise to his fair-skinned cheeks.

"My point exactly," the raven-haired Elf-lord said testily. "And I shouldn't have to do that. How old are you?" Elrohir's flush finally showed up on his face and deepened all together.

Glorfindel smirked and wriggled further up on his pillows to get a better look at all that was transpiring about him. Elrond gave him a hard look that made him shrink back down and be content to watch from where he was. But he was still finding everything extremely humorous, even if no one else thought so.

Elladan frowned and said, "I'm sorry Ada. I really didn't mean to crush your plant." He felt like a little child apologizing for breaking the precious antique vase and that didn't exactly make this situation any less humiliating or frustrating. It actually made his temper flare inwardly at himself for being so stupid as to be sitting on the windowsill in the first place and to have leaned backwards in the second. If Estel were here it would be certain that he would be getting lectured by his youngest brother or being getting laughed at to the nth degree. Neither sounded very appealing and he couldn't seem to figure out which was the lesser of the two evils.

Elrond sighed and said in a firm voice, "we will talk about it later, Elladan." Glancing at Elrohir he said quietly, "you come with me."

Once his brother was gone, Elladan shifted uneasily in his bed and sighed with frustration as much as an increasing boredom. "Blasted roses," he muttered under his breath. Of course he knew that the roses were hardly the problem but at the moment he had nothing else to blame these degrading and irritating circumstances on. Flowers were an appealing scapegoat, he certainly ran no risk of provoking a retaliation. The last time he had heard of a flower attack was, well, never.

He really didn't understand why his father was so furious other than the fact that he had crushed his rose bush and made a fool of himself while breaking a rib. It just didn't make sense and he would have thought that his father would have found that somewhat humorous but he didn't crack a small smile even once. It was simply not like Elrond to shun him and refuse to discuss something.

Glorfindel spoke from his left before yawning. "So how exactly did you come to land on his precious rose bush and mangle it?" It was better to hear this stupid little story than listen to the birds and let his cabin fever grow on him. He was mad enough already…

"I am not going to tell you if you don't already know, Lord Glorfindel," Elladan spoke with irritation. He closed his eyes and tried to imagine he was anywhere but here. Now, more than he had ever in the two years that Estel had been missing wish for his baby brother. He even missed the laugh he knew Aragorn would drive him to the brink of insanity with.

"Very well then," Glorfindel said as he shoved the quilt that some healer had placed over him as he slept off the bed and began to rise. The blanket crumpled to a heap on the floor.

Elladan knew what he was doing without even cracking an eyelid to take a quick glance. He smiled wryly as he gave a soft sigh before muttering, "don't you dare." It sounded strangely like an order and Glorfindel leaned back in bewildered amusement and cocked an eyebrow at the other Elf skeptically. "And who died and made you Lord?"

"No one really, I guess," Elladan mused as he twisted his head, opened his silver eyes, and looked over at Glorfindel amusedly but with annoyance all the same. But his view was limited due to the swelling in his eyes were he had actually managed to acquire a few dangerous bee stings due to the disturbance he had caused the busy creatures. Now that was something that he would have found highly funny if it had happened to anyone but himself.

"Well, then guess what? That means I am in charge…" Glorfindel was rudely interrupted.

"Unless I am here and then I am, as long as you are under the roof of this particular building," a strong, yet laughing voice reminded nearly joyously.

Glorfindel and Elladan both looked over at the door to see the head healer (other than Elrond) standing there. Her long honey colored hair mixed with strands of chestnut draped over one of her shoulders and was flipped behind the other.

She smiled tensely before commanding, "you are to stay here until Elrond gives me leave to release you."

"Oh, please…" began Glorfindel before his jaw dropped as he saw she was hardly joking. "I have rested here for an hour and I can assure him I am cured fully of my head-ache. As a matter of fact, allow to rise and I will prove it to you in no uncertain terms." Muttering small little quips about Elrond under his breath, the golden-haired Elf finally said into the air, "taking advantage of your power is most unfair, Lord Elrond."

"And talking about him behind his back is most brave," commented the women healer dryly as she went over and pressed gently on the golden-haired Elf-lord's brow with her slender, long fingers, feeling for any signs of the swelling receding. Glorfindel jerked back as her fingers centered on the more tender part of the bruise. She smiled tensely. "Lord Glorfindel, who fought and killed a Balrog jerking back from the touch of a healer's fingers to his bruise?" Turning to wink at Elladan she said, "remember this."

Elladan smiled and said, "I shall have to get Erestor to put it in the archives."

Glorfindel shot Elrond's eldest son a dangerous look between winces, which were quite often. "Well Balrogs didn't systematically probe a bruise for no real reason other than to torture me, they weren't that smart…" He winced as she gave it a final press before backing away and looking at it.

"I think the swelling will be gone by tomorrow, but you will still look like a mendicant raccoon with the black and blue patch that is going to leave for a few days." She smiled cheerfully and winked at Elladan, who was withholding laughs as he tried to avoid upsetting his rib, which had only just stopped feeling like it was being slowly twisted from his body.

"More like a crabby badger," commented the twin dryly as Glorfindel narrowed his eyes, causing the truth in the statement to be clearly seen.

"Well at least I don't look like a puffed up toad…" Glorfindel began a perfectly mean retort.

"Oh, I don't know, I think Elladan looks cute…" the young healer mused as she sat on the edge of his bed and looked down on him with a smile. Glorfindel looked disgusted and snorted with repulsiveness. Elladan held his chin up and smiled mockingly at the Balrog-Slayer, who rolled his eyes and glared.

"Cute compared to a toad," she finished with a cheeky grin and jumped up before Elladan could retaliate.

Laughter erupted from Lord Glorfindel who now found everything suddenly to be hysterical. Elladan turned an astonishing shade of crimson and then turned ashen before reflecting a strong red color again. He frowned and gave the golden-haired Elf a scathing glare before rolling his eyes and closing them, pretending not to hear their giggles and snickers.

"Thanks," Elladan said impassively as they continued with their little charade. "You are such a sweet maiden, Helinyetillë. Always so caring and polite, practically cut out for healing…"

"Oh, Elladan, you are too cynical," she chided as she picked up a handful of cotton bandages and stepped towards the older twin, waiting a moment to see his reaction. If she was looking to see a blank look of complete terror, she was very disappointed.

All Elladan did was squirm slightly and ask with a grin, "planning on embalming someone?"

"Not unless he refuses me sanction to heal his battered and cracked ribs," she responded rather acidly. Glorfindel watched with slight amusement as she unwound one of the long linens and commanded Elladan, "sit up slowly and do not move until I tell you to."

Elladan scowled and asked incredulously, "are you sure this is necessary?" He gave her a dubious look and sighed as her eyes hardened. "I am not questioning your capabilities, only their need," he tried to ease the anger he saw was building up in her eyes as they took the form of small slits with a ferocious storm brewing in them. It was a rather disquieting stare that she was shooting him and he wheezed slightly as he drew a breath. Raising his hands he tried to ward her off. "I really-"

"-You may torment and badger the other healers into letting you be until your father deals with you but you won't me, Elladan Peredhil. So don't waste your verve trying," her advice was a bit calmer than he had expected. All the same he could tell she was ready to choke him with the very bandages she held and one more comment could tip the scales.

She raised her brows and Elladan was about to comply but he recalled with agitation that Lord Glorfindel was there and he simply could not lower his pride and dignity that low. It would be all over Rivendell and then he would never hear the end of it. Next thing they would be doing would be giving him all sorts of medicines and other perfectly wretched things that he really didn't deem were needed.

"Helinyetillë, why would I simply let you bandage me up like a mummified…"

"Elladan, you are treading an extremely thin line. I strongly advise that you shut your mouth while you are ahead," Helinyetillë's smile was cold enough to freeze the sun and fierce enough to create magma from rocks. A very strange combination but Elladan wasn't really thinking about that right now but more about how he was going to get out of the healing ward any other way than a casket. Judging from the looks the healer was shooting him that was going to be quite a challenge.

Glorfindel chuckled and gasped, "Wait until your sister hears about-"

"If you so much as mutter under your breath the words, 'Elladan', 'rose bush', healer' and 'stubborn' in the same sentence to Arwen I swear by Illuvatar's light I will slay you cruelly," Elladan's threat was serious and there was no jest in his voice. He smiled suddenly and a wicked tone came into his inflection, "if you feel she needs to learn of my little misadventure, then I might find it necessary to tell her of your attempt at getting to know the large tree by the pond."

"I am going to Lorien and I am sure she will find out anyway…"

"I am coming with you."

Helinyetillë watched the conversation with an amused and twisted smile crossing her lips. Crossing her arms she leaned back on her heels and decided not to interrupt this very intriguing little quarrel. It was far too interesting and far too hilarious, she decided with a growing grin.

"No you are not!" Protested Glorfindel. "I forbid it!"

"Glorfindel, you are not forbidding anything, Elladan you are not going to Lorien, Helinyetillë, thank you for even attempting this insufferable task." Elrond addressed all in the room in their proper turn before turning upon Elladan and collecting the bunch of bandages from Helinyetillë, who handed them to the dark-haired Elf-lord and with a smirk at Elrond's eldest son, left the room with the swish of her long skirts.

Elladan gave a long-suffering sigh as his father motioned for him to sit up and hold his arms out. Complying, the younger Elf whined, "I really feel this is not necessary, Ada. I can breathe fine and…" his argument tapered off as he saw the don't-push-your-luck look that his father was giving him. After all, he had just mutilated the Lord of Imladris' favorite rose bush. That was asking for your untimely death.

Elrond was silent as he wound the linens tightly about his eldest son's rib cage and Elladan felt a sickening fear and sorrow building up as he watched his father work. He looked to Glorfindel, but his father's friend was quiet as well, watching Elrond with a troubled look in his eyes. Weariness reflected in Elrond's steely grey orbs that made Elladan feel slightly guilty and ill.

"Ada, will you please just say something? Scream at me! Tell me anything?" Elladan begged as Elrond tied off the bandage and prepared to leave.

Elrond looked up at Elladan and said calmly, "walk with me. I won't take you anywhere where others can see your…inflamed looks," he added wryly with a small smile that was nearly unrecognizable and obviously hollow.

Elladan nodded mutely and stood up carefully, following behind his father. He suddenly felt small, like a little child again. Unable to shake the feeling off and not sure that he entirely wanted to, Elladan let it be and amused himself by watching his father's robe trail on the tiled and beautifully designed floor.

When they reached the balcony where Celebrian had always liked to sit and watch the sun set or the birds migrating South, Elrond stopped and turned upon Elladan. His eyes were partially closed and to Elladan's they seemed wet. Was his father crying? This could not be…

Elrond blinked away his tears quickly, not wanting his son to see him weep even though he knew there was no shame in it.

Elladan remained silent knowing that if his father was ready to speak he would. It was just that the eldest son was not sure if he was ready to wait for a prolonged amount of time and yet he was not sure that he was ready to hear all that was on his father's mind.

Finally, after what seemed an eternity, Elrond spoke slowly, as though his words pained him. "Elladan, my son…it has been two years." The Elf-lord wrinkled his forehead in emotional pain and passed a trembling hand over his brow. It hurt when he thought that his Estel, his child, was now Aragorn son of Arathorn and on his own. It made him face the fact that Aragorn was not purely his and had his own life. It made him come to understand that he could not shelter him forever and that sooner or later Aragorn was going to be beyond his aid. He just didn't think it would come so soon. He also felt a slight feeling of guilt…like he had driven Aragorn away.

"Father, I do not think he is dead," Elladan answered quietly, knowing his father's silent fear and regret. "I have a special bond with him, nearly like I do with Elrohir…and I can still feel him, like a second heart beating with my own…" Elladan's voice tapered off as he realized bleakly that he wasn't sure how to explain what he thought or felt.

"Elladan, it has been two years. Do you remember when you and Elrohir went off on your own for the first time…the trouble you first found and have never ceased to find since?" Elrond asked abruptly, slamming a fist against the marble balustrade in his apprehension and frustration. "We have heard no word in two entire years…"

Elladan leaned back against the railing carefully and looked at his boots. "Father, let Elrohir and I go and find him. We already were planning on going to Mirkwood and traveling with Glorfindel some of the way until his path departs from ours to take him to Lorien."

"Elladan, how do you expect to find him? If you venture too far into the Southern portion of Gondor either side could capture you. The do not trust Elves…" Elrond argued, thinking he was fighting for his son's life. Elrohir and Elladan would die if they went south and got caught in the slaughter between Harad and Gondor. If Estel were not there, they would have no one to turn to if the Gondorians captured them whom would take them as spies.

"I do not know, but I think we can find a way. Father, do you recall the time that some Dunlanders captured me and Elrohir miraculously managed to find me and save me?" inquired Elladan desperately. He wanted his father's approval, but it didn't mean that he would stay home if he didn't get it. Aragorn may have fallen in love with Arwen, he may have created tension but he certainly didn't mean to and by the Valar he was still their little brother and he meant to bring him home, to be safe.

"I do but that was under totally different circumstances. You know that land, both of you, Gondor, not so much. I will not send you into that sort of danger," Elrond stated firmly with a tightly drawn mouth. "I will not lose all three of my sons I fear I am already losing my daughter."

"Ada, he is not just your son, he is our brother. But you know as well as do Elrohir and myself that he is so much more than that as well. He is the destined King of both Arnor and Gondor. So, if you will not look at this as a mission to save this family, look at it as a mission to save the world." Elladan's eyes and voice had grown hard and cold as he spoke and he didn't appear to be the Elfling Elrond had always thought to have known. Something had changed or been woken that might have been better left to rest.

"Elladan, I want him home as badly as you do. Do not accuse me otherwise. But I am trying to think of this rationally. I cannot allow you to go into you know not what sort of danger."

"It has been two years, Ada, any longer and I don't think we shall have the chance." Elladan squared his shoulders and looked remarkably like his father but with a face shaped more like that of his mother. His eyes had narrowed and his brows were stubbornly knitted.

Sighing with the knowledge that he had no other choice, Elrond conceded, "very well. But I shall come with you and we shall stop first at Mirkwood and Thranduil's halls to see if Prince Legolas has anything to say and any information for us."

"But we haven't heard news from them in at least two years. Dol Guldur is strengthening. Even our envoys have failed to return," Elladan reminded with a slight of bit of alarm.

"Well then we shall have to make sure that all is well over there, and bring some Elves of our own incase they need aid," Elrond said as he began to walk away from his son and the balcony.

A weary voice spoke calmly from the corner, "Surely you do not mean to go without me, Elrond? You do not mean to send me to Lorien to toddle after Galadriel and Celeborn like a young child as they tell me everything you wish to know?"

"Glorfindel, it is dishonorable to eavesdrop on others conversations-"

"Do you see any eaves that I could drop from, Lord Elrond?"

"I must confess, I do not."

"Then I will happily inform you that my honor is in no danger at the present."

"Glorfindel, you are supposed to be resting. But to answer your question bluntly, yes: you are going to Lorien." Elrond answered briskly as he watched Glorfindel poke his head from around a pillar with a devious grin pulling at his face.

"You will need a guard to go to Mirk-"

"Glorfindel, I am perfectly capable when it comes to protecting myself," Elrond countered before Glorfindel had even finished.

"You obviously haven't traveled with your sons often then," Glorfindel answered with a dramatic roll of his eyes towards the heavens.

"It is a thing I do make a point to avoid if I can help it. Which is a reason why I might make them stay behind," he said as he looked at Elladan who was shooting Glorfindel a completely lethal glare, or it would have been if eyes could bore holes into one's body.

"Get over it Elladan, it's the truth," Glorfindel snapped before the elder twin could say anything.

"Well I am sure that Ada, being the sane Elf-lord that he is, tries to avoid traveling with insane Elves such as you," spat Elladan back venomously and with a twinkle in his eye that was looking a bit demented. "He would really like nothing better than to travel with his sons to Mirkwood."

"Maybe if he was drunk."

"Glorfindel, that will be enough. Elladan get back to the ward and rest," Elrond commanded both of them firmly. He looked at Glorfindel with a slight bit of anger after watching Elladan fume back to his healing chambers and hissed, "you need to learn when to hold your peace. You have been around Erestor far too long."

"I told you that demented counselor was insufferable," Glorfindel reminded with a smile as he watched his friend shake his head and look out over the balcony at the word beyond. But the Gondolin Elf's voice changed entirely when he saw that Elrond had fallen completely quiet and his breathing came after long and tensed intervals. "My friend, Estel will come home. He always does. Why should be break his unmatched record now?"

"You even made a misjudgment at one time Glorfindel. He is young still for one of his special race of Edain. He has not all the experience and his record is hardly encouraging," Elrond sighed as he spun around to face the alarmed look of his long-time friend. His face was tight and drawn and the rings under his eyes were suddenly very clear to Glorfindel.

"I didn't misjudge. When you fight a Balrog you never expect to win, exactly," spoke the golden-haired Elf-lord quietly as he stared into Elrond's eyes. He wasn't going to go into the difference between sacrifices and misjudgments now and anyway, he was certain that Elrond knew the discrepancy quiet well. "It has only been two years and he is many leagues away. You know how long wars can last and how complicated it can be to get home, as do I. But I do advise that we go to Mirkwood and see if we can't find out any news from Thranduil or perhaps Legolas is there."

Valar! He was beginning to sound like Erestor! This could turn into a crisis….

"Would Legolas not go with Estel?" asked Elrond with a twitch if his eyebrows as he knitted them and closed his eyes. "But if that is true, Thranduil would want to know information on Legolas and I think he would have sent word to us."

"Unless Dol Guldur's power is increasing to a dangerous level. I am certain that those Wood-Elves have their hands full at the moment and you know as well as do I that if that is the case they will spare none of their warriors," Glorfindel admonished as his voice tensed. He sighed and said, "I might as well go to Lorien. If I do I may learn something from the Lady Galadriel."

"Glad to see you are going to cooperate," Elrond tried to jest but it came out in a serious voice that sounded far from happy. He knew it was strange, but he felt like inside he was dying. He felt like he was going to lose both his daughter and now his youngest son. Something in his chest shattered and he turned away from Glorfindel abruptly so that his friend would not see the tears that crept down his face. He hardly ever cried. He had cried when his sons were born, he had cried when Arwen was born and he had cried when he heard how Estel's parents had died. The most recent time he had wept like this was when Celebrian went to the Havens and the West.

"My friend, I understand your pain. But your son will return home, of that I am sure. It isn't a matter of 'if'. It is a matter of 'When'." Glorfindel spoke sagely as he placed a comforting hand on Elrond's shoulder just as Legolas might have placed on Aragorn's or vise-versa.

O0O0O0O0O

Dorrag looked over his shoulder as he heard the sound of guards approaching and smiled as he stared at Legolas' nearly panicked face. He knew that the Elf was frightened but he had to admit, this being was doing a good job of hiding his fear and his pain. He was doing an annoyingly good job at hiding his identity too. "Looks like they are coming back for you, Blue-Eyes."

Legolas just glared at the man before him and spat, "you are wasting your time. It will change nothing. This I promise you."

"That's what you think but I have an idea that I believe _will_ _change _your mind." His smile increased, as did the amount of ice and steal radiating behind it. As the guards came he commanded leisurely, as though it was something that he hadn't thought much about, "I want the Elf placed in the Black Box. Make it two hours."

The guards nodded and said in rushed whispers as smiles were drawn on across their faces, "yes, my lord."

Coming in they stood before Legolas, who gave them an impassive glare before he was unchained and yanked to his feet. When he saw the manacles with the blades on the inner part of them, where they would mangle his wrists' already raw and smarting flesh, he could not help but back step slightly before he managed to get a grip on his fear. But his stomach was doing flips and his throat was constricting. As much as the prince tried to swallow the hard lump down it seemed only to expand and cut off his airway all the more.

While some men held his hands and arms, another slipped the cruel links on and locked them tightly, so that he was not spared the sharp pain that was made as the blades met his flesh and burrowed into it. They were conveniently placed so the knives did not touch his main artery, but they would if he struggled.

Looking over his shoulder he saw the knife that Dorrag had given him half buried by straw during the meager struggle he was able to produce. If his hands had been free these men would have been dead, he affirmed in his mind with agitation.

Legolas allowed himself to be lead out and down the dark and ominous corridor where he knew Aragorn waited at the other end. But his heart was beating recklessly in fear not for himself anymore, but at what he might find. He did not know if he could bear to look, even if he knew that he had to. His stomach drew into itself it seemed and formed a tight and painful knot as his face acquired a sickly green tinge. He was certain that a deaf person could hear his breathing not to mention the guards who were enjoying themselves just about as much as he figured Sarchel was at the moment.

When he entered the room and saw Aragorn kneeling on the floor, doubled over, blood on the tiles and stones surrounding him, it made Legolas' knees nearly buckle and if it was not for his pride he would have fallen on his face in horror and sorrow. He remembered the screams as they echoed like ghosts through his memory and made him wince and close his eyes he recalled what he had gone through only a little while ago.

He could not help the tremble that started in his hands and eased its way through his entire body. As much as he tried to will that he should stop, he couldn't put a halt to his shaking and the men laughed.

Sarchel stopped what he was doing with Aragorn and came over to where Legolas stood, shivering against the cold he felt creeping into his blood. Smiling, he grabbed Legolas' jaw and squeezed it as he asked tensely, "are you ready to talk, or must I further demonstrate my capabilities to you and your ranger friend?" He gestured with his other hand back at Aragorn who had fallen over onto his stomach and was lying on the floor with eyes shut tightly. Legolas saw the newly made cuts on the man's shoulders and it made him sick.

"You are a coward," he bit out through his clenched teeth at Sarchel, who laughed coldly.

"Perhaps, but you are in over your head," he retorted as he released Legolas' face with a downward thrust that served to make Legolas' anger rise. If he was allowed to do what ever he wanted he decided he would slowly choke this annoying Elf warrior and enjoy watching his face turn blue.

"Sir, Prince Dorrag said for the Elf to be placed in the Black Box," one of the guards informed, trying to appear helpful before his superior.

"Did he?" Sarchel asked thoughtfully before shrugging. "Well if he wants the Elf to go completely insane that is his business I suppose." He smiled back at Aragorn as he taunted, "and the ranger gets to watch every minute of this. Or no-wait, he can't after the lid is placed on it."

This sent a thrill of fear up Legolas spine and caused the hair to raise on the back of his neck and he shuddered. He didn't know exactly what they were talking about but it sounded horrible and he glanced at Aragorn who as now looking up at him with such blood shot eyes that Legolas felt his own throbbing with a smarting and raw pain. He saw the pain on his friend's waxen face and he watched it register in the human's orbs.

Legolas felt sorrow and regret race through his system and he wanted to collapse and beg Aragorn's forgiveness that he should be used against his friend. He should have never come, then Aragorn would never be placed in this position. It was his entire fault and he wished now that he had never left home. All he could do was stare back at his bleeding companion and try to remain on his feet and will his trembling legs to stand. But he was weak as it was and he had no idea why he was still standing. He should be falling and yet he was grateful to the Valar that he hadn't yet.

He heard a grating sound and saw a box being dragged from the corner; it was painted black.

But it was also shaped like a sarcophagus however it was set upright on its base, he noticed with disgust and apprehension. Dust covered it and flew in the air, as the lid was tossed open. To Legolas' dismay, a skeleton, years old and ready to wither into dust fell out. It's rib cage slid free of a knife that had been imbedded between two ribs for years. As Legolas looked at the walls of the box with widened blue eyes of rising terror he saw that knives covered the inside. There was no way to get placed in it without getting stabbed at least once.

He suddenly felt detached, as though nothing was real and everything was just a bad dream. Horrible flashback images of past tortures in the dark returned and he found it nearly too much to push them aside. Images in the room he stood in merged and swirled as he felt his tongue swell and go numb so he could not speak.

Legolas was going into shock.

All Elves fear the dark, but past events had made him slightly claustrophobic and under this sort of pressure and pain it was a waking nightmare. He could only gape as the chains on his wrists were removed and he was shoved inside, barely missing the knives that lined it.

As he looked about him he realized that all the knives were of different lengths, created to stab only so far and cause so much damage. The fact that this was such a calculated procedure only served to make his blood freeze and his heart labor as he anticipated the darkness and the horror…the pain and smell of his own coppery blood hanging in the dank and close air.

Aragorn raised himself to his knees and croaked, " oh-no! No! Please don't!" He plead for Legolas, knowing his friend's fears, past and present...knowing Legolas' past and the horror darkness and close air caused to all Elves.

"Tell me what I want to know or he gets placed in here and you can just kneel there and here him beg to be released," Sarchel said as he shut the door to the tiny black prison some of the way. It was enough to make Legolas suck his breath in sharply as he saw a knife about to gouge his rib cage's side.

Aragorn went silent and Sarchel shrugged. It was no skin off his nose if they wished to go ahead and do things the painful and hard way.

Even in shock Legolas managed to hiss to Aragorn before the door was shut and locked, "keep your mouth shut Thorongil!"

Aragorn heard a small cry come from the Elf as the knives stabbed and grazed Legolas inside the darkness of the torture device. He winced as he imagined himself in there. It should have been him in there. Looking sadly at the box's locked and bolted lid he felt his throat constrict further than it already was and he felt his heart start to fracture in his chest. It was a cold pain that felt like everything was shattering like broken glass and it spread through his body and mind like a frigid fire.

Everything seemed so cold now and it was unreal as Aragorn found himself fast slipping into a vicious amount of shock that was stealing his thoughts and reality. His head swirled and he crawled forward a little ways before he couldn't find the strength to crawl further. His fingers curled and uncurled as he gripped the edges of the stones and released them in his agony, trying to ease his emotional and bodily torment.

Sarchel had him crawling on the floor and he began to feel mortally ashamed.

A faint cry of panic fractured the air and Aragorn knew that terror had set on Legolas as he felt the closeness of the air and the knives slicing into his skin. "Be strong, mellon nin." Aragorn willed his friend from outside the hideous box and plead, "be strong. I need you to carry on."

Legolas felt the heat of his own breath reflect back on him when he breathed as it bounced off the wooden walls that surrounded him. Every move that he made caused some sort of knife to tear his flesh and he could already feel fresh blood running down his rib cage's sides where the blades had scraped or jabbed him and were still pressing against his body, cutting deeper.

His strength was waning from lack of food and blood loss, so now he was beginning to slip into a state of exhaustion. He couldn't stand in their much longer but if he so much as shifted his weight he was pricked. Sitting was not an option.

He drew a breath and the air felt so stale and hot. It reeked of old death and the smell of must. The memory of what he had seen before he was shoved in here made his stomach wrench.

He couldn't breathe! There was no air! He simply could not breathe!

He wanted to scream, but he was too frightened and there was no air. Not a bit of air. His chest felt tight and he panted in terror as he felt the knives jab into his flesh and cut open old wounds, releasing his blood and pain.

He wanted to bang on the sides and the door with his fists but he felt too weak and he knew that his hands would be ripped to ribbons by the blades.

Feeling his heart laboring in fear, Legolas could hold on no longer and he felt himself beginning to slide into unconsciousness. It wasn't the first time and it certainly wouldn't be the last. As he felt the darkness fall he finally gave in but not before releasing a curt and strangled cry as his body fell against the sharp weapons that lined the inside.

Aragorn had heard the cry through is hazed mind and even though he knew hat Legolas needed him he felt himself slipping away into unconsciousness. "My friend.." he breathed, and then he faded.

_As he opened his eyes slowly, Aragorn blinked in the light. Sunshine drifted down through the leaves of trees landed with a comforting warmth upon his face. He felt safe for the first time in a long time and drew a deep breath, smelling the comfort of the green foliage and warmed earth. _

_The soft moss beneath him felt so wonderful, like a feather bed. How long had it been since he had lain in his own bed with his own quilt and pillow? How long had it been since he had remembered life could feel this peaceful? It had been too long. _

_But where was he? This place could not be real, could it? Had he died or was he simply hallucinating to try and escape his misery? _

_Someone was beside him and he looked over to see Legolas, lying by his side, a peaceful look on his fair features. But Aragorn noticed with curiosity that the Elf's fair skin was bruised and bloodied. His tunic was gone and fierce wounds covered his thinning frame. His blonde hair was loose and stained with his blood as well. _

"_Legolas?" he asked softly as he gingerly touched his friend's bloodied face with a gentle hand, hoping Legolas was not dead. _

_The Elf's eyes fluttered open and he looked at Aragorn. For a moment his eyes registered complete terror and he looked around again in alarm but then his mind must have caught up with what was around him and he drew a deep breath as he realized he was safe. But he gave a puzzled look and asked, "Estel? How came we here? Where are we? Are we dead?" _

"_I know not," answered Aragorn. "But you should rest while you can." _

_The Elf shook his head and sat up onto his knees as he looked at the ground and then smiled at his companion. "We should have known something like this would happen." _

"_Yes," agreed Aragorn gloomily. "But there is always a sort of hope we won't find ourselves in a situation like this one." _

"_Indeed," Legolas assured. "There is always hope." _

_Aragorn smile and stood up, offering a hand down to Legolas. The Elf took it gratefully and his face was lightened by a returning smile. _

_A voice said softly, like an echo in the trees, "Legolas….Aragorn…."_

_Both looked at each other and exchanged nervous and unsure glances. What was this new trick? Were they drugged? But the voice sounded eerily calm and all knowing, not cruel and abrasive. _

"_You are coming to me…to us…" _

"_Who are you?" Legolas breathed as he watched the trees for a sign where the voice could possibly be coming from. Not finding it, he looked back at Aragorn in a way that asked, 'what is going on?' _

"_You have met me before, both of you…" the voice faded in and faded out like a dream in and of itself. _

_Legolas' face seemed to drain of color and he whispered around a contracted throat, "Mandos." _

_"You are both on the verge of death. You are fading fast…" his strong voice sounded alarmed and saddened, as did many of the Valar's voices. "You were only allowed to be given one chance to die and come back. If you die now, I cannot revive you again." _

_Legolas' face was now white and was very nearly transparent in the light of the sun that suddenly seemed so cold and far away. He shivered and Aragorn looked at him. All of the prince's wounds were fading and he noticed with curiosity that his own were as well. _

_Mandos spoke again to explain what was transpiring. "You are caught between life and death. You are still alive so your wounds exist but you are fading and entering the West. The more your wounds fade, the more your lives in Middle Earth wane and the more you enter eternity." _

_Legolas looked at his managed hand and saw it was becoming normal as it had been before the session in which it was mutilated. ._

_"One of you may not return home." Mandos' divination caused fright to stab both Legolas' and Aragorn's hearts as they feared for each other. "I may not interfere. Not this time…" Mandos told them quietly. _

_Legolas looked at Aragorn and suddenly the blonde Elf keeled over and did not rise. Aragorn kneeled by his friend's side and pressed his fingers to Legolas' neck to feel for a pulse. He felt one, slow and erratic but definitely there. _

_"He has returned." Mandos' voice echoed through the treetops. Aragorn watched as all Legolas' wounds spilled back across his skin and blood began to seethe slowly from the newer ones in his sides and arms as his life in Middle Earth was slowly returning. _

_Aragorn had not returned and as he looked at his own hands and body he saw that it was nearly as new as though he had never tasted any of the torments. _

_**He** was the one dying… _

Legolas woke on the floor where he had been thrown to after he was removed from the box. He felt his cheeks and noticed they were wet with tears and burned with a heat akin to a fever. Beside him lay Aragorn, cold and forlorn looking and his face was frighteningly white. He looked like of a ghost of what he used to be.

Not daring to move, Legolas swirled his blue eyes upwards the see the faces of men standing around him, sneering down, watching as he crawled on the floor. Too tired and in too much pain to care, Legolas felt the cool stone beneath his burning cheeks and just lay on the floor as he felt his own blood running from his body where the knives had jabbed him and torn open the battered skin.

"Elf, you cannot hold out much longer," he heard a voice say and guessed it correctly to be Sarchel.

Ignoring the man, Legolas looked at Aragorn and begged in whispered Elven, "please don't leave me. I am frightened Estel. I am frightened and I don't want to be alone…you promised you would never leave me."

"Elf…" he heard the men calling to him. "Tell us your name and where you are from or must you endure everything all over again?"

Pushing this out of his mind, Legolas looked at his friend and tears streamed down his face and pooled on the stones mingled with he and Aragorn's blood. "Please don't leave me," he begged once more in Elven, trying to call Aragorn back. He feared in his heart what his mind already knew; that everything had been too much for Estel.

Sarchel's voice drifted into his awareness again, "he is leaving you and you have lost, Elf."

Legolas clenched his eyes tightly shut, as it became more difficult to breathe. He felt a rattle developing in his chest. Maybe it was time to let go and journey home, to his final rest. But something wouldn't let him go. Something was holding him here, an unseen bond and it was inescapable.

Suddenly his mind was filled with shouts and voices slurring together. He looked around himself and saw blurred images. Reaching out a shaking hand he grasped Aragorn's cold one and held it tight before darkness overcame him and he slipped away.

**TBC…well what did you expect? We had to end it here. Cliffies are one of the most brilliant solutions to boredom. However they don't exactly break the habit of nail-biting. **


	12. Miracles Happen

_**CHAPTER TWELVE **_

Miracles Happen

Elrohir sat by the windowsill's edge, watching the sunrise behind the vale of pink clouds on the horizon made jagged by the mountains. He squinted his eyes and looked down at his hands that were on the edge. Elladan was snoring behind him as usual, the blankets covering him and completely over his head. His pillows were shoved on the floor and a single arm hung over the bedside clenching and unclenching as he dreamed.

They would be leaving for Mirkwood that day and smiling he knew he had to get Elladan up and moving or else they would never go anywhere. Climbing onto the bed, he stood over his brother and a wicked smile crept across his face as he stared at the pile of blankets that rose and fell with Elladan's deep rhythmic breathing. "Sleeping beauty, you can wake up now," he cooed as he began to remove the quilt from the elder twin's peaceful face.

"Elrohir, go away," Elladan mumbled beneath his blankets as he kicked and Elrohir was knocked from the bed onto the floor.

"Do not force me to get a healer in here to wake you," Elrohir growled as he fixed his disheveled hair and stood up in annoyance. Brushing off his clothes he muttered, "these were only just washed too."

Elladan smiled as he lay under the blankets and teased lightly, "I don't think that any of the Elf maidens would mind if you took your clothes off for them to wash."

"You think you are so funny," Elrohir said as he strode to the bed side and narrowed his eyes, casting a scathing glare at the shifting covers that his brother was laughing beneath as he was half asleep. "You know if you don't get up father might go ahead and change his mind. We aren't necessary for him to go you know."

There was silence and a light snore floated up the blankets. Elrohir scowled and then sighed as he shrugged his shoulders dramatically. "I was honestly hoping I wouldn't have to do this." He was glad Glorfindel had left the Healing Ward early that morning. Otherwise he had a feeling that he would be humiliated.

Gathering himself he jumped and landed directly on top of Elladan whom gave a surprised cry. Rolling over he looked up into Elrohir's smiling face and the twinkling grey eyes. Frowning, he grumbled, "oh, get off." Elrohir laughed at his brother's disgruntled voice and the glare on his face. "I said get off," Elladan repeated with some heat.

After falling out of a window, Elladan didn't appreciate this in the least, though he was in no more pain from the rose stickers. He gave Elrohir a shove and the younger twin suddenly collapsed on top of him and said in a teasing voice, "I love you too brother, dear."

"Elrohir…" growled Elladan as his younger brother smiled and propped himself up on his elbows on Elladan's chest placing his chin in his hands so he could stare directly into his elder twin's face. "Elrohir, you have forgotten about my ribs!"

Elrohir quickly and nearly instantaneously backed off and his joyous face was turned to one of instant regret and worry. "Are you alright El-" He didn't get to finish his question because Elladan grabbed a pillow and lobbed it at his head, smacking him square in the face and flipping over his shoulder to break a vase on a table nearby.

Elrohir glared sinisterly and said, "You are a liar, and you are lucky Ada never liked that particular vase."

Elladan just looked extremely smug smiled as Elrohir continued to glare evenly and unrelentingly.

"You seem to be in the habit or breaking things lately. Especially Ada's things. I think you are becoming a klutz like Rothinzil," Elrohir said as he took his brother's clean clothes he had brought for Elladan to change into and tossed them onto the bed.

"There is no comparison," Elladan protested as he stared at the sage colored under shirt, tunic and leggings somewhat incredulously. "These are exactly the same as yours. We haven't dressed identical in years."

Elrohir shook his head as he sat on a chair near the bed and muttered, "You're right. Roth is even more graceful than you." He snorted and leaned back, placing his arms on the arm rests leisurely as he watched Elladan's expression. It was amusing, or at least more amusing than watching paint dry…

"You exaggerate, brother," Elladan muttered beneath his breath as he started to flip the blankets off his body and climb out of the bed. "What is the occasion that we should dress identical?"

Elrohir thought for a moment and shrugged before looking at the floor tiredly. He sighed and then said quietly, "I miss Estel and the old times. If I can't relive my time with Estel, I wane to relive it with you. Like when we were younger and didn't have so much to worry about."

Elladan nodded and said, "Well I agree that it would be sort of amusing to dress alike again. But I wonder how the rest of Rivendell will take to it?"

"Erestor will be next to himself with aggravation," Elrohir laughed as he stood up and continued to snicker. Elladan began to strip his old nightshirt off and slid the clean undershirt on and then pulled the tunic over his head. Amusement crossed Elrohir's face as he saw the red speckles on Elladan's skin where the thorns had left their mark. Sniggering quietly as he turned around to allow his brother to put his clean leggings on in privacy, Elrohir stared out the window of the ward.

"Okay, I'm dressed," Elladan said as he through his cloths into a heap in the corner. Straightening his tunic and pulling at it, he smiled at Elrohir. But Elrohir noticed his smile was weak and concern gathered onto the younger brother's cheerful face.

"Elladan are you…well?" he asked softly while looking dubiously at his twin, who was giving him a strange look.

"Yes. I mean the only thing wrong is that I think I pulled some of my muscle away form my cracked ribs. But I should be alright," Elladan warded off his brother's over concern over such a small thing. "Cracked ribs are a minor injury when you really think about it."

"It depends on where they are cracked," came a calm voice that lingered in the air. Helinyetillë strode in with Erestor following directly behind her, reading over some reports of the herbal stock or something of that nature. The maiden smiled and produced some bandages that she had rolled up in her hand. "While Lord Erestor checks through my records of stock (which he will find to be flawless) I shall bind your ribs to ensure the muscle is not separated from the bone."

Elladan rolled his eyes and grumbled crossly, "I just put my tunic on!" His indignant look was priceless.

Helinyetillë crossed her arms and rocked back on her heals before she said, "Well Lord Elladan, you can just take it off." Erestor walked past her towards the storage rooms, shaking his head as he went. His eyes continued to be locked on the paper and its contents.

"Helinyetillë, how exactly do you find time to write all this down?" asked Erestor from the storage room as he gazed into all the boxes to ensure that they were low on nothing. He felt the texture of the Athelas leaves to make sure they had not some how lost their verve and virtue. He was amazed to find they were remarkably well kept.

Helinyetillë talked over her shoulder as she prepared to bind Elladan's chest. "My work is my life, Lord Erestor, as I believe yours is." Her response was factual and crisp. She was not trying to show off in the least and so her voice had the clear ring of truth.

Erestor came out of the storage room and was still shaking his head. Putting the papers in order, he set them on the bed beside her hand and said, "well Lady Helinyetillë, I find them to be well kept not to mention well organized and the storage room in wonderful shape."

"Thank you Lord Erestor. I find it strange that all the other healers seem to be somewhat…intimidated by your presence. You certainly don't seem to be so overbearing," she said as she smiled and tied off Elladan's bandages and pressed around his chest to make sure it was bound tightly. Elladan continued to look perfectly indignant and even when he winced and grimaced in pain.

"You obviously are blind," he uttered in a low mutter that was not wasted on the young maiden.

"You would be wise to shut your mouth Elladan," she snapped aggressively as she straightened up, smoothed out her skirts and picked up the papers before addressing the counselor.

"Actually," Erestor said uneasily. "There was one problem I found, very minor, but important all the same. I think one of your files was incorrectly labeled."

"I am rather occupied now, my lord," Helinyetillë said as she tapped the papers against a tabletop firmly and briskly. "However, if you wish to discuss it later I would be honored since I know your skill in paper work is hardly matched." Her grey-green eyes flashed as she smiled and said, "good-day, my lord."

Elladan and Elrohir exchanged glances of amusement and shock and Erestor walked stiffly out of the room with a scarlet face.

O0O

Elladan stared at his father with a shocked face as he nearly choked on his honey cake. "You said we could travel to Mirkwood with you!" He protested immediately after swallowing. Elrohir leaned against a pillar, scowling in the corner; a shadow seemed to have fallen on his face. What made him even a little more frustrated than being told he could do something and then being denied was being told he could do something and being denied without real reasons for it.

Elrond didn't answer for a minute, then he choked out in a tense voice, "I have lost your mother and my wife, I am losing my daughter and Estel. I will not lose you both. You are staying here to look after things while I am gone."

Glorfindel rolled his eyes and emitted a small sigh in exasperation before crossing the meager amount of space that lay between him and the door and exiting the room. He was tired of this constant arguing over something so simple. It wasn't that he was cold hearted, but that he knew Elladan and Elrohir were grown and capable of defending themselves. They needed to be allowed to make their own decisions. That and if Elrond wanted Rivendell to remain standing he wouldn't keep them here while he was absent.

Elrond watched Glorfindel leave before he turned back to Elladan who had pure fury in his eyes. "Ada, Elrohir and I managed to free mother, or we tried and we came out…alive. "

"And that may not happen again," Elrond seethed uncomfortably. "If I lost you my heart would break. …It would kill me." Sighing in his anxiety and sorrow, Elrond mumbled, "Excuse me for a moment."

Walking out quietly, Elrond didn't give a thought to where he was a traveling as long as it was anywhere but where his sons were and the hurtful question of travel.

Finding himself alone in his study, Elrond drew a shaky breath and sat in his most comfortable chair, fingering his quill and wondering how he had come to have such stubborn and frighteningly insane sons. He missed Estel, whom he felt was the one who, actually help to keep them safe. Estel had been the mediator out of all of his sons. If there was a fight, he could usually patch things up. He also gave Elladan and Elrohir a reason to be more rational about their actions and take less risk. But then again they would risk anything to keep the young ranger safe and he would do anything to protect them.

"You can't keep them under your wings forever. This is not the first time we have had this conversation."

Elrond glanced up at the golden-haired Elf-lord before him and considered standing up, but thought better of it. At the moment he felt very weak and he didn't trust his strength. "Glorfindel, my friend, you cannot possibly begin to understand." Elrond's voice sounded so tired and a stab of slight fear entered Glorfindel's heart.

"Mellon nin, I may not know exactly how you feel, but I know how I feel and I love them as though they were my children. I would never wish harm to come to them but if you love someone you have to let them go," Glorfindel said in a soft voice. He sat on the corner of Elrond's desk calmly as he was able but his hands were shaking.

Elrond had lost interest in many things lately, especially song and feasting. He didn't watch sunrises or sunsets anymore and there had been days when he had never left his room, never left his bed. He had always said he was just feeling unusually tired but Glorfindel knew that Elrond's heart was breaking.

He had not even feared for his friend's heart when Celebrian had come back with her wounds and miseries. But now, knowing all Elrond had gone through before and knowing all that he would never want to go through again eh did fear for it. Elrond was danger of dying from a broken heart.

Elrond had always been the strong one and now Glorfindel was truly scared for the survival of Rivendell, which was itself not so tranquil anymore. Elves had been quarreling and orcs had been sighted directly on its borders and moving in closer. The power of Vilya was dying as Elrond faded. If Estel didn't come back Rivendell would cease to exist, as they knew it; it might cease to exist entirely. Glorfindel had even noticed that normally trees that were evergreen were turning a dingy brown and falling to litter the cold ground. It had already begun; Rivendell was failing.

"They are my sons, Glorfindel. I can't just let them go!" Elrond said quietly as a dangerous light came into his eyes.

"You let Estel go," Glorfindel reasoned.

"He chose exile!" Elrond growled. "I would never turn him out!"

"And yet you sent no one to look for him!" Glorfindel seethed back angrily as he felt his temper rising. "It has been two years!"

"Glorfindel, do not accuse me of being a bad father!" Elrond stood up and pointed a shaking finger at the golden-haired Balrog-Slayer. "You didn't exactly volunteer to leave!" The lord of Imladris pointed out accusingly as he slumped back into his chair.

"I didn't exactly know where to look! And, Lord Elrond Peredhil, he is not my son!" Glorfindel's temper was beginning to reach its peak. His blue eyes narrowed into slits of pure wrath. "Your sorrow and lack of action is killing your own people and everyone close to you!" The Gondolin Elf bit out with resentment. "Vilya's power is getting out of your control. Trees are withering and Elves are quarrelling. It has been long since we heard music in the Great Hall."

"Glorfindel, you are going too far!" The raven-haired Elf-lord snapped in his own defense. "I am in control!"

"That's what you like to think! You are broken, Lord Elrond! Broken and you refuse to heal!" Glorfindel's voice was bitter now and his point was made completely clear. "Do not make me drag you to Mirkwood. You need to get out in the open air and see the world around you. It is falling into darkness and Rivendell is one of the last places of safety. You know this as well as I do and you have a responsibility to keep it that way."

"I do not refuse to heal! I am not broken!" he nearly snarled as he felt his guilt biting at his own conscience, causing it to bleed. "I am still well, I am simply tired."

"Because your heart is breaking!" Glorfindel said as he stood up to leave. "I stick by you because you are my friend and I owe you that. But you are tired because your heart is dying and you won't admit it."

Elrond fell quiet and Glorfindel reached the door. "I will meet you in the stable with your sons, Lord Elrond."

O0O0O0O0O0O

Pain, numbness, darkness, and bright light, all merging into a world of mystery and contorted agony.

Legolas opened his liquid blue orbs and blinked his surroundings into focus. It was dark and for a moment he feared he was in the dreaded box once again. Jerking up he felt nothing above him and below him his shaking and drawn hands clenched the cold smooth stones of the floor. Shifting a bit further, he felt straw gently brush his hands and arms in a fashion he once found irritating and scratchy but that now felt beyond all praise.

Wrinkling his brow in confusion, Legolas asked in a shaking voice, "Estel?" He felt so alone and unsure. Was Estel dead or had it all been a dark dream?

Shivering and trying to rise but found that he was far too weak to even lift himself to his knees. Blood, cold and dried coated his side, crusting it over. Legolas felt his battered abdomen over with a cold hand and found that the damage didn't seem to extend to life threatening…not yet. The knives had definitely been carefully planned to not slice or jab any vital organs. But they still hurt a great deal. As a matter of fact they hurt enough that he wondered if pain itself was a killer…if so he was in mortal danger.

Legolas felt himself reeling and before he could stop himself he fell onto his face. Too tired to rise, the Elf lay on the floor and moaned, "Estel, please, please…where are you?"

He groped in the darkness around him, seeking for his friend's hand. He found it, cold and nearly stiff but as his fingers touched the wrist he detected a small pulse. Aragorn was alive and Legolas felt his spirit's rise slightly though he felt the darkness seem to double and weigh them down. He came to feel what he had been conscious of all along. He was helpless, powerless and weak.

Crawling closer to Aragorn, though his wounds grated against the rough straw and jagged pieces of stone, Legolas set his head by the human's arm and snuggled up against the ranger for comfort; feeling a friend so close. His eyes still felt swollen, just as though he had cried for centuries.

"Estel," Legolas spoke to the still form quietly in a hoarse voice. "This has turned out to be more than I bargained for. I thought that we would different from everyone else. I thought that we would last." Breathing heavily but shallowly in his horrible pain, the defeated Elf whispered, "there was once an Elf and a human, captured by Sauron. Baren, of your bloodline, and his friend Felegund." Swallowing before he continued, Legolas murmured, "they thought they would be strong enough. But in the end, Felegund, the Elf, perished to save the human, his closest friend."

Legolas' hearing had fully returned and he heard the rain pouring down outside this impenetrable fortress in which they were imprisoned. Each drop making its own individual sound as it pattered to the earth, bounced off the harsh stones of the palace and added the puddles of murky water that was flooding the desert country. Sometimes he had remembered his home and the sunshine wondering what it felt like, for his memories were even beginning to fade.

He missed his home so much and at times he wished that he had never left. But what would have happened if he had never left? He would have never been there for Aragorn but the human had been doing fine on his own. Drawing a deep breath that bordered on a sob of loneliness, the prince wondered if he had stayed home if any of this had happened. Maybe Aragorn would have taken a different route and missed the ambush entirely and never been captured. Or perhaps if he were captured they would have no reason to torture him and would have simply used him as a slave. In that case Aragorn would have found a way to escape in time.

Legolas knew it would have been far better if he had listened to his father and stayed home. Now he was truly sorry. His father was not only his father but also his king and he had defied him. Legolas deserved banishment and by their law he should receive it. But that was all right. He was already banished.

Trying to sit up in the dark, Legolas felt something cold and hard touch his hand's palm. Grasping it he winced as it stung his hand, slicing his flesh. It was then he realized they were back in his cell and that was the knife that Dorrag had thrown in to him…for him to kill himself with. Eyes narrowing and brows knitting in anger, Legolas glared in the dimness. He squeezed the blade harder and felt his blood rush over his hand as the knife severed the skin and released the sanguine fluid. But he was not thinking of his death, but of another's. Black anger entered his heart and he had not the strength to stop it. It was the anger that brought him new life and gave him a reason to live. He had to prove Dorrag wrong. He and Estel would make it through this and he would personally drive the blade into the works of that miserable Haradrim prince's heart.

A few moments ago he wouldn't have minded dying, he would have enjoyed it. But now he was determined not to. His hand holding Aragorn's cold one clenched and he whispered, "we are going to get out, mellon nin. I promise you."

He felt one of Aragorn's hands squeeze his faintly and a smile touched Legolas' lips as he smile and said, "that's it. Hold my hand. We shall do this together." Giving a small laugh, Legolas whispered into the night, "miracles happen."

He felt Aragorn stirring and knew that his friend was waking up, or trying. But he was deeply concerned that the ranger's wounds could be too extensive.

Legolas' sharp Elven ears picked up the sound of the strong bolt door slamming shut and the strong noise of booted feet against the cold cobblestones of the path to the cell. A faint torchlight glistened ahead of the men and reflected on the walls in strange and bizarre shadows of light. Legolas felt a panic rise in his heart as he realized that the men were coming back and that it wasn't for any nice reasons.

Running his hand down the blade of the knife until he felt the hilt, Legolas wrapped his fingers around the handle. Letting go of Aragorn's hand with his mangled one, Legolas stood up on his pair of weak legs and then crouched ready to spring. He was not going to let them torture himself or Aragorn again. He was going to fight to the death rather and take a few of the men down with him first.

The men were coming closer and now Legolas could see them clearly in the light of the brand. Brushing aside his blonde hair that was loose and in his face, the Elven prince prepared to sell his life dearly. A hard and resolute look replaced the hopeless and mournful dullness that had shrouded them in mist.

As the soldiers, lead by Sarchel appeared outside his cell door, Legolas held his readied position. The Lieutenant smirked and asked with a scornful voice, "still fighting Elf?"

Legolas made no response and he felt a second strength racing through is body as his adrenaline rushed through his veins. His pain was pushed out of his mind and he glared icily. "Still fighting," the Elf growled out as his hand with the dagger began to grip tighter as sweat slicked his palms. His voice was hoarse and showed all that he had suffered and how much he had been forced to cry out of even scream.

Knowing the risk he was taking and hating to take it, Legolas prepared to attack. He didn't expect to win, his wounds were too extensive and his strength would wane too quickly as his energy drained.

Shrugging Sarchel opened the door and began to allow the soldiers to file in to take the Elf away since obviously the ranger was not going to talking for some time.

That was when Legolas made his move and stabbed swiftly, just as he would have with one of his twin knives. The first soldier fell dead, his throat cut and Legolas glared at Sarchel as he spun the knife between his fingers with amazing precision. He dared the Haradrim officer to try anything else.

"Impressive Elf," Sarchel muttered as he drew his own sword. "But you are weak and we are not." He stepped between his soldiers and the furious Elf that was glaring daggers at any who looked his way, which was more or less everyone.

"Now drop your weapon and hold your hands up," Sarchel commanded. "Or I will tell my men to shoot the ranger. He isn't necessary anymore." The soldiers readied their cross bows and the bolts were aimed at Aragorn's still form that lay in the straw of the cell.

Legolas looked at the men with shock and debated whether or not he possessed the skill or swiftness to kill them before they had a chance to shoot his friend. Decidedly not, he decided grimly. Frowning in the knowledge that he had lost and had accomplished next to nothing other than irritating these men to further want to harm himself and Aragorn, the Elf continued to hold on to the blade. He could not find the strength to drop it.

Putting it to his own throat, the blonde prince said, "if you harm the ranger further I will be lost to you forever. Do not test me." The coldness in the blue eyes showed that Legolas was no the least bit unsure. He was simply serious and not afraid to carry out his threat.

"Please," Sarchel begged wearily as the situation bored and aggravated him and he pointed his sword at Legolas' head, "drop the knife."

"So you can kill Thorongil and torture me?" Legolas asked bitterly. "Why _doesn't _that appeal to me?" He resisted the urge to jump as he nearly pressed the knife too deeply into the skin of his throat. The last thing that he needed was an accident. The only thing that was keeping him alive was keeping himself needed and alive for the men to try and use.

"Elf, you won't kill yourself. You are too scared," Sarchel taunted as he crept slowly closer.

Legolas laughed coldly, "no, I am not. I am warning you one last time, do not test me." He felt his hands shaking. He wasn't scared, but he was frustrated to near the point of tears.

A smooth voice spoke directly after Legolas' ears picked up the sound of footsteps. "Master Elf, drop the knife. We can talk things out. Lieutenant," he addressed Sarchel crossly. "Lower your sword. The rest of you, remove your crossbows." Prince Dorrag gave Legolas a venomous glare. "You have become more of a troublemaker than I had thought was possible."

"Underestimating you're your enemies is the worst stroke one can have against themselves," Legolas bit out as he kept the knife at his throat. His eyes locked on Dorrag and the Haradrim prince connected his eyes with the blonde being's.

"So I have learned," Dorrag said calculatingly around a set of heavily grinding teeth. "Please, Elf. I am sure we can reach an agreement."

"I doubt it," Legolas said dryly. He looked nervously at Aragorn lying on the floor to his right.

"Elf, you don't have a choice, because you are never leaving this dungeon alive unless it is on our terms and even then, you won't be alive long."

Darcíl nodded sagely at Dorrag's side before smiling wryly at Legolas. "You know you are losing, so if I were you I would drop that knife and look for help elsewhere."

His voice was a tone that Legolas had never heard come from him before. It was strange and twisted. Legolas stared at Darcíl for a moment as though the man had a second meaning in his words. But unable to detect any Legolas continued to give him a strange stare.

That was the undoing of Legolas' sparse grip on the situation and Dorrag whipped his sword from its sheath at his side, snapping it out at Legolas' face and the knife went spinning into the darkest corner of Legolas' cell with a clatter as it banged against the walls. It made a dull thud as it buried itself in the scanty amount of straw.

Smacking Legolas across face with the flat side of the sword, he knocked the Elf to the ground. Giving a satisfied smirk as he watched Legolas rise slowly, Dorrag said, "Elf, you are lucky I didn't break your filthy little neck. Arrogant fool."

Legolas felt hot blood run into his mouth and tasted its coppery and salty flavor. He stared first only at the ground and then slowly raised a set of cold and livid blue-crystal eyes to glare hauntingly at Dorrag; blood trickling down his chin from his broken lip. "You're the fool," he retorted tensely. His glare turned from Dorrag to settle on Darcíl, who looked perfectly at ease with everything that was transpiring.

"No, Elf. Now I am going to give you seven hours to regain your senses and if you haven't by then, I am going to hand you over to my men to do as like with you as long as the information is dragged from you. And after they have you crawling on the floor like a miserable worm, I sentence you to be put to death by hanging." Smiling he smirked, "have a nice seven hours."

The soldiers all lifted their crossbows and turned, filing out one by one, following their cruel prince. Sarchel walked by Dorrag's side, talking in hushed tones with his lord. Legolas watched them go and he noticed with some satisfaction that they must have felt his eyes on their backs as they left, for the ones in the back went as quickly as possible and glanced over their shoulders nervously.

Smiling slightly, the Elf got up and crawled over to Aragorn, lifting the human from where he was sprawled on the cold ground. "You will catch your death if you lay like that," he chided to the prone ranger as he collected him into his arms and looked at the pale face with a tinge of green in it.

Darcíl stepped forth from the shadows where he had waited for his lord to leave. He walked slowly to the bleak little cell and looked through the bars. His eyes came to rest on the pair of friends and their paled faces; forsaken eyes. He knew that as far as the Elf was concerned they had lost their last chance. He knew that the immortal still possessed quite a fervent fire within him, but it was being quenched slowly by his sorrow and misery. A small frown crossed the captain's face as he spoke to Legolas, "you cannot hold out much longer."

Legolas didn't even look up at the man of Harad as he demanded, "leave us alone." He held Aragorn close and a tear fell from his face to land on Aragorn's waxen one and trickle down the ranger's cheek in a small river. He had failed his best friend and nothing in the world could change that cold fact.

"You will break tomorrow. Nobody has held out longer and you are already too weak to put up a half decent fight." Darcíl pointed out bluntly.

"Why don't you go and attend your feast upstairs celebrating your victory?" asked Legolas bitterly without removing his eyes from Aragorn's face as he ran his hand through the ranger's dark locks mournfully.

"But we haven't obtained victory yet. And anyway, I have no reason to celebrate," he muttered grimly.

Legolas gave him strange look. "You don't?" he asked incredulously. Did this man think he was stupid or not listening? Whatever the case Legolas was more than half tempted to say 'liar'!

"No, I don't," Darcíl said quietly. He looked at the stone floor sadly.

"Indeed?" Legolas snorted. "Why not?"

"Because if you break tomorrow you doom my home and life." Producing a key he opened the cell door and stood before Legolas and narrowed his eyes. "I don't really care about you and whether you are in pain or live or not. I only want to you alive because Dorrag wants you dead. Is that understood?" He kicked Legolas' foot as he spoke.

"Not exactly, but I doubt you will explain anymore," responded the Elf smoothly but with a touch of anger.

"Not at the moment anyway," Darcíl as he looked over his shoulder nervously. His hand went to his sword hilt out of habit. They did not have long and if he didn't move quickly they would be captured and he tried for treason.

"So you are going to help us escape?" Legolas asked without letting the suspicion slide from his voice. His eyes left his ill friend and he glanced up at Darcíl mistrustfully. "Why don't I believe you?"

"Whether you believe me or not it is true. But if we do not hurry we will all be caught." Glancing down at Aragorn he asked swiftly, "Can you carry him?"

"How far?"

"Elf, it doesn't matter. Just, can you?" asked Darcíl again impatiently as he looked over his shoulder a second time. "If you can't I am not afraid to kill him and leave him behind," the Haradrim captain stated anxiously as he expect a troupe of soldiers to be sent down for his arrest at any moment.

Legolas stammered, "yes! I can carry him!" There were no second thoughts needed. He doubted that he would be able to carry Aragorn, he could barely walk himself, but his determination hardened and it fed his strength.

"Good, now get up!" he commanded sternly and turned to leave. When he realized Legolas was not behind him he stopped and turned around with a look akin to anger flashing in his eyes. "What's wrong Elf?" His unsympathetic voice made Legolas' stomach churn as he stood on his weak legs trying hard to carry his own weight and the weight of the unconscious ranger whom he could feel fading.

"I have been through hours upon hours of torture and you ask what is wrong?" the blonde prince seethed as he struggled forward. His blue eyes had a jaded tint in them and it was more than obvious the Elf was strongly feeling the effects of his fatigue.

"Elf I am being generous. I do not need him alive and if he slows you I can easily get rid of him." Legolas clutched Aragorn closer and a mutinous expression came across his face.

"You would be sorry if you tried, human," he managed out around his wheezing that came from the pain that coated his body. He felt like he was going to collapse any moment.

"You are in no position to be making threats!" reminded Darcíl with aggravation.

"We are wasting time!" Legolas spat. "Now are we leaving or not?" A green taint was entering Legolas' face as his stomach turned violently and he felt very ill.

"Get moving and we shall see." Darcíl began to walk towards the dead end of a dark passage. He stopped and turned around to see the trailing Elf giving him a questioning look. It was very nearly laughable and he couldn't blame the immortal really. What he was doing did seem rather stupid. "There is a trap door," he explained briefly and then let his actions speak for him.

A slight grating sound was heard as Darcíl put his strength into sliding a large stone slab away from the gapping hole that shown beneath it. A dank, stale odor came up and it did nothing to help Legolas' ill stomach. The thought of traveling down there, in the dark, it not please the Elf very much. Estel was not awake and this man could not possibly understand his fear or even care if he did.

Willing himself not to tremble, the Elf asked, "So are you coming with us?" Legolas shifted Aragorn's weight in his arms.

"I can't. If I disappear they will get suspicious and you shall not get far," Darcíl answered quickly as he motioned for the blonde being to get into the hole. He then showed the knife that had been in Legolas' cell and waved it before Legolas' face before he slipped it into the prince's boot since it was obvious the Elf's arms were full.

Legolas was hesitant. "Where does this lead?" The last thing he wanted was a trap or to get caught by some men and slain cruelly. He had to get Estel home. Something told him that nearly everything depended on it. And he didn't want to run in there, headless of dangers.

Darcíl answered gravely. "This leads to the village where my family lives. The people more than abhor the royal family and will provide your companion with aid. You, however, I am not sure about. But you must travel in the tunnel for at least three days without rest if you wish to get a head start before they realize where you are." Legolas gave him a reluctant look and Darcíl said, "You cannot use a torch. You must travel in the dark. A light could give you away and the fire would eat the oxygen. You have nothing to fear when it comes to turns and passages, however, the path is straight and narrow. Getting lost is not an option. When you reach the end, extend your arm upwards and you will feel a hand. Pull down on it and the door will open. You will be on the outskirts of the town."

"Well that sounds…encouraging," Legolas said wryly and with a twisted, grim smile. "Although I don't know whether I should be grateful to you for getting us out or angry with you for using us." He would have shrugged had he not been bearing Aragorn.

"There is not time for you to chose," Darcíl reminded gravely. "You must hurry or we are all three dead. Remember I would kill you on a battlefield and not think twice."

"Remember that feeling is mutual," Legolas responded irritably. The Elf extended one foot to set on the first stone step into darkness.

**TBC………Please review! We love those. Legolas and Aragorn have "escaped", but how long could that last? And it is dark; Elves and darkness do not mix too well. Oh, and Aragorn is still not awake? This cannot be good…. **_Winces at readers _**Well we warned you guys! But there was some fluffy and kind parts… **

**Don't forget to review! We will post next week on Wednesday! **


	13. Will I be Alone?

_**CHAPTER THIRTEEN**_

Will I be Alone?

Thunder rumbled and Glorfindel shook his head sadly as he watched the sky illuminate with lightning that jetted across the sky in bright streaks. Thunderstorms were nearly unheard of in Rivendell, but not since Estel had left. Elrond's strength to wield Vilya was fading and the ring's powers were taking over as it took advantage of the fact that no one was governing it. The thing that disturbed Glorfindel the worst was that Elrond seemed to be blind to everything around him. Sighing the Gondolin Elf pulled up his hood and looked over Asfaloth at Erestor, reading the grave concern written all over the counselor's contorted face. "His strength is waning," Glorfindel muttered nervously.

"Obviously," Erestor affirmed the statement. He looked above and nearly winced as a loud clap of thunder split the air and pounded in their ears. "If this continues much longer I shall go mad."

"It's a little late for that," Glorfindel commented as he stroked the white horse's silvery mane and ran his hand down the sleek neck. The creature nuzzled him affectionately.

Erestor laughed wryly and said, "You would think so, wouldn't you?" He patted Asfaloth's haunches and spoke quietly, "bring Estel back. I fear for the survival of our home. If the rain continues much longer than the waters shall rise and who knows what shall happen if the River Bruinen is let free."

"I shall do my best, for what it is worth," Glorfindel assured grimly, straightening his saddlebags to rest easier on the animal's back and sides.

"Keep Elrond safe," Erestor said solemnly as his grey eyes connected with Glorfindel's blue ones that had become very pale blue with unrest.

"Indeed," the Gondolin Elf smiled and shook his head. "Though I have to put up with Elladan and Elrohir, so in a way I have an excuse if something goes wrong."

"Glorfindel," Erestor chuckled, "you are a living excuse."

"You wound me-" A low rumble that suddenly pitched to a loud and threatening roar made both of the Elves jump and then turn red with shame.

"Relax. Its only thunder," Elrohir called as he strode in, carrying his saddlebags as Elladan walked slowly behind, obviously lost in thought. Elrohir glanced nervously at the barn walls and out the window. He was quiet for a moment and then said, "I wonder if it is storming like this anywhere else. It is most curious weather for this place. Where's father?"

"He is coming," Elladan said as he set his bags on the floor outside his chestnut stallion's stall. "He is leaving Erestor notes and plans." A raindrop struck the older twin's head as it fell from a crack in the ceiling rafters. He looked up and gave a small frown. "There are times when I think Vilya destroys more than it saves."

"Be careful when you say something like that, Elladan," advised Erestor glumly. "Without it Rivendell would not exist." He shook his head and Glorfindel rolled his eyes as he made sure the straps on Asfaloth's harness were fitted well. Finding they were not he tightened one as he cast a scolding glare at Elladan.

"It is because father is fading, just like mother." For a moment Elladan felt a stab of anger towards Aragorn and his actions before he remembered Aragorn had very little control over war. But he wished he could find something to blame his father's lapse on and it hurt that he could not. He felt a great deal of responsibility had been placed on his shoulders and he also felt he might buckle beneath it. It also burned in his heart, seared his heart actually, to know that the person he admired most was struggling immensely not to fail him and coming close to losing.

"I think he is going to be fine," Glorfindel tried to encourage those around him.

"Glorfindel, it would be better if you would just be quiet!" Elladan snapped. Erestor shot Elladan a disapproving look and then sighed.

"I think I should take my leave. I have things to see to I am sure." He cleared his throat and stepped past Glorfindel and walked past the twins before exiting the stable in what could be called a disquieted and uncomfortable fashion.

Glorfindel leaped up on Asfaloth's back and rode out after the raven-haired counselor. "Erestor! Wait!" he called through the rain. He didn't expect Erestor to actually hold up so the next few moments were a bit of a exceptional surprise that he felt was commendable on Erestor's part.

The dark-haired Elf halted and turned around and watched as Glorfindel rode up alongside of him. "Be careful. The more Vilya's power gets loosed, the more dangerous things could get. We do not know what it will do if it is allowed to have control over itself."

"I know. What do you take me for?" asked the dark-haired adviser with a scowl. Glorfindel clearly thought that he was an idiot. Not that this was anything Erestor didn't know, but it still wore upon his already wearing nerves that Glorfindel treated him like one without thinking twice. Oh, maybe in the back of his mind Glorfindel didn't think he was entirely stupid, but he did an excellent job of keeping it a secret. Erestor was certain it was one of the most carefully guarded secrets of Rivendell, if you disregarded the Elven rings and Narsil.

"I just am saying I don't want you to get killed. Then I would have no one to annoy and tease when I am bored," the Balrog-Slayer complained, but he could not completely erase the worry on his knitted brow.

"Killed? Unlikely," Erestor passed off Glorfindel's warning as mere over kill on the account of his anxiousness. "Elrond would surely come in control of the ring before it claimed Rivendell and destroyed it." He could not truly believe Elrond would allow Rivendell to fall into complete chaos and decay. It just wasn't something he ever had dreamt would happen and not something he had ever thought of even once before. But in the back of his bind there was a slight doubt that his friend and lord could fully control Vilya in his mental state right now.

"One would hope, but Elrond has not yet been tested against Vilya once it has been unleashed," Glorfindel cautioned once more. "I am just telling you to be careful." He sighed heavily and looked at the pummel of his saddle gloomily. Finally he mumbled what was pure and unaltered honesty. "I don't want to lose you, my friend."

Erestor didn't do what was expected. He frowned for a moment and then looked up at Glorfindel and nodded quite seriously, "and I don't want to lose you. Be careful and watch your back, all right? Dol Guldur is growing more bold." A clap of thunder broke through and the rain came down in redoubled drops that soaked the two friends saying farewell in the midst of the storm.

"Now you had better get indoors, Lord Erestor," Glorfindel jested lightly, though it came out more serious than it was meant to. "Wouldn't want to look like a wet mop."

"I am no Elfling. I can stay outdoors if I wish," Erestor protested but a smile was playing on his lips as he spoke. He chuckled and said as he looked beyond Glorfindel to the stable entrance where two cloaked figures were emerging. "It looks as though your wanton subservients are ready to depart."

Glorfindel wrinkled his nose in mock disgust. "They are always ready to depart for somewhere." Erestor only nodded mutely in agreement.

Another figure approached from behind the dark-haired counselor through the mist that was rising through the falling rain. Lightening licked across the dull, cold sky and if one listened closely they could hear a cry of dismay from the Elves as they plead for the stars to return. A sage cloaked figure rode a shadowy grey horse. His shoulders were hunched and he didn't look at all the proud Elf-lord everybody knew he was.

Glorfindel cast Erestor an alarmed and sorrowful look, which was equally returned by the adviser after he spun around to see the Lord of Imladris. Of course chances were that things looked worse than they actually were. But still, Erestor could hardly say that things were going reasonably well either.

"Are we ready?" asked a voice beneath the cloak and Glorfindel looked into a pair of near dead eyes. It made his heart clench but he said nothing of it and merely inclined his head in coherence. The twins trotted their chestnut and roan horses to stand beside their father's stallion.

"We are not-"

"-Glorfindel's obligation." Finished Elrohir for Elladan as he scowled at the counselor, who rolled his eyes and began to head up to the Last Homely House. He wasn't going to get anymore involved than he had.

"Indeed!" Elladan snorted disdainfully. "I think we are old enough to think for ourselves and look out for ourselves as well!"

Erestor continued walking, obviously thinking to protests of the twins hardly worth the effort it would take to quiet them. 'Look out for themselves?' he asked himself with an inward snicker that quickly escalated to a fair amount of roaring laughter as the absurdity of the statement struck him. He shook his head wearily as he heard them calling after him. Climbing the stairs that lead to a balcony he quickly ascended to the top and turned to look out at his departing friends. Four figures riding out of Rivendell through the muck and mud, he frowned quietly.

Lightening lit up the entire sky in its bright purple flare followed by a loud clap of thunder that pounded in his ears. Looking up at the forlorn sky where the stars used to dwell, he felt his heart sigh. All Elves have a deep emotional passion for the stars and sing to them quite frequently. But there was no music in Rivendell anymore, not since the stars had left.

A wind picked up, whipping his dark hair about his face and he watched as some dead leaves were ripped from a tree nearby and danced in the cold air until they settled on the browning grass. He noticed as though for the first time how Rivendell was fading…was dying. Soon, it would be gone. That was unless Elrond came out of his depression. Erestor knew that his lord and friend's deep sorrow was affecting the mood of Vilya and only if Elrond pulled out of his misery would Rivendell recuperate.

That was of course, unless someone else found the strength to wield Vilya. Elladan and Elrohir might, if they knew the full extent of its power and were fully mature. But even then it would take years for them to rebuild Rivendell…years it did not have.

Sighing, Erestor spun around and noticed Helinyetillë standing there, holding her papers and giving him a strange look. "Lord Erestor, are you well?"

"Just a bit overwhelmed, my good Healer," he conceded sorrowfully. "But I shall be fine." He looked into her eyes and then instantly looked at the floor as she scowled.

"Even for all your diplomacy you are a terrible liar." Her voice was slightly hard and she walked leisurely up beside him and pressed her stack of papers into his hands whilst casting him an evil glare. "Whatisthematterwiththem?"

Erestor smiled wryly and then shivered without warning as he felt the nip of the cold for the first time in a long time. "Would you like to go inside and talk about it?" he asked, though in his ears the question sounded entirely stupid and he felt blood rushing to his face. Willing it to remain normally colored, he looked at her decided face.

"Are you cold, Lord Erestor?" she asked as he raised on slender eyebrow and looked him in the eye. Lightning flashed and it reflected in her grey orbs. The counselor thought this to be rather ironic.

"Not really, I just thought it might be good if we both got in out of the rain," he reasoned with her as he attempted to sidestep her all at once.

She stopped him and if anything her scathing glare deepened. "There is an overhang and neither of us are getting wet. Just tell me what you think is the matter." The wind picked up and more dead, brown, crinkling leaves were torn from the trees' branches.

Erestor finally gave in and pulled a paper halfway from the stack and read aloud the title at the top. "Herbal stock." Frowning he pointed out helpfully, "all you have written on here is our supply of Athelas."

Helinyetillë had a ready counter and she whipped her hair behind her shoulders as she spoke. "We only have Athelas at the moment. The plants in Rivendell are withering, save the Athelas and we are having trouble replenishing our diminishing supplies. However, it is 'herbal stock' and I can add to this file later." She frowned and asked bluntly, much to Erestor's humiliation. "Are you telling me all this just for an excuse to talk some more with me?" A loud boom of thunder followed by littler rumbles of discontent echoed in the air before Erestor could find the courage to speak.

"Business is business." Erestor's voice was firm and his gaze hardened.

"And what exactly is your business?" she crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes into silver slits of suspicion. Erestor felt slight flushes enter his cheeks but he narrowed his eyes and knitted his brows to compensate.

"None of yours," he retorted heatedly with embarrassment.

"If you wanted to talk with me, you could have simply asked, you know. But it isn't going to change anything," she added crossly as she snatched her papers from his hands rudely. Casting an unpleasantly conspicuous glance at him she asked quickly, "don't you have some papers to shuffle?"

Erestor looked slightly crestfallen and if the feeling like his chest was being ripped apart was a symptom of a broken heart then he definitely had one. He wanted to sigh, but he had more dignity than that. Helinyetillë saw his saddened face and feeling slightly sorry for him she tucked the papers on her arm and her eyes softened. "Erestor, you aren't unkind or over bearing or anything. But you are just not over bearing enough, and there is the problem. You aren't orderly enough for me. I am sorry. But how about us being simply friends?"

"A friend would be nice," Erestor said as he forced a saddened smile. The winds changed and a shower of rain suddenly cascaded in on them both and thunder clapped several times all at once. Erestor just couldn't believe that he wasn't organized enough! Valar he always had his paperwork filed, labeled and disposed of correctly and on time.

"Very well, then. Friend Erestor, I will see you around then, alright?" she said as she turned and walked briskly away. Erestor turned his face to where he had seen Elrond, the twin sand Glorfindel depart. His sharp eyes saw them at a distance and his face became troubled as he realized the full responsibility of what had fallen on his shoulders.

Feeling miserable and very much alone, Erestor didn't go inside as he felt the rain beat against his face. He wished Glorfindel or someone were here. Even the stars were missing. He wanted someone to truly talk to and there was no one here. As he watched the trees, he saw more leaves tear from the swaying branches and he took note to how the streams no longer tinkled music but roared with the voice of destruction as they flooded their banks. Rivendell couldn't last much longer.

O0O0O0O0O0O

Legolas grimaced as he set his foot down for near the hundredth time as he walked in the dark shaft. The air was close and it was nearly cold. His body was trembling as much from fear as from weariness. His torments were quickly catching up and he staggered, nearly dropping Aragorn. He should have known this was a stupid thing to do even if it was the best thing.

The Elf had found that it was increasingly harder for him to breathe as though a great weight was on his chest. His face so pale it was nearly luminescent in the darkness of the tunnel. Sweat dripped from his brow into his eyes and his hair hung in his face, clinging to his sticky skin. His tongue was swollen and it was ironic that though there was water everywhere, there was nothing that he could drink. He did not trust this water and had no intention of drinking it unless he had to. Even if it was safe, which he was highly skeptical of, it was completely disgusting and unappetizing to say the least.

Licking his cracked lips Legolas thought how he was going to strangle Darcíl for this. Oh, he was grateful for getting out, but he was having an extremely hard time keeping himself and Estel alive. He had been down here for hours and he doubted that he had made much progress at all. If he had, he certainly hadn't noticed. It felt as though he was going in circles and all the dark was weighting him down. 'And' he told himself. 'Caves are not this creepy. Not to mention there is always a cursed stone directly in my path and unknown to me until I stumble over it!'

Legolas could feel Aragorn's life returning as the cool air caressed his hot body and the strange peace in the darkness began to heal his tormented mind. He was returning and Legolas felt his own hopes rising bit by bit. But that didn't mean that his wounds were any less painful or less difficult and weakening. He was simply not going to be able to carry on much longer. He had been bleeding far too much.

Stumbling on a rock submerged beneath the icy water, Legolas finally fell to his knees and he was unable to rise. 'There is another stone, how perfectly inconvenient,' he muttered mentally. His strength had simply given out and he tried to hold Aragorn above the frigid water, but his arms trembled and it was impossible. All he could do was keep the ranger's waist and above free from the dirty liquid. "Estel, I am so sorry I…that…this happened to you. I wanted to save you and I have killed you." The Elf let his tears fall upon his friend's chalky face. 'I was a fool to think this might have been an escape.'

He sobbed. It was his fault entirely. Shivering in fear of the dark the Elf plead to the ranger, "please don't leave me, Aragorn. You know I can't stand the dark." His plea had the resemblance of a cry torn from one's throat, for Legolas' dry mouth and dehydrated body prevented him from speaking well.

Legolas didn't know what he was going to do if he saw Darcíl again, but he didn't worry too much about it. He knew that the Haradrim captain had sent them to their deaths and he knew that it had been done knowingly. Darcíl truly didn't care whether they lived or died; he just needed them gone to suit his own purpose. They would die in his cavern. Legolas was sure that if he wasn't blinded by the thick dark then he would have been blinded by a spell of red as he thought of where they had been sent to and for what purpose.

Glancing about himself, though he could see nothing, Legolas sighed wearily and pulled Aragorn closer. He smiled thinly. "Well if I have anything to do about it you shall see your beloved Arwen again. And you shall see Lord Elrond and Dan and Ro. I may not return, but you shall. But you must forgive me, because I need to rest." Legolas plead for his unconscious friend's understanding as he leaned back against the wet and cold stone wall of the passage. He truly was beginning to loathe this duct.

Legolas closed his eyes and tried to pull the memories of his home forward. He missed dear Rothinzil and little Ilwë and Teleprion. He wanted to see his father so much that it was ripping a large hole in his heart that he knew could be fatal. The Elf drew in a labored breath and smiled as he thought of the starlight on the trees of Lorien at a distance. He had longed to go there someday and see the Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn. Aragorn had told him such beautiful things about it and he had hoped that one day he and Aragorn would travel there and stay a while, together and explore its fair forests. But he supposed that wouldn't happen now.

He suddenly heard a hoarse voice say, "Legolas?" Jolting awake, the prince looked down at his friend and his throat leaped into his heart as he found it was possible that Aragorn was alive and with him. Suddenly he felt that he might not be so alone. "There is nothing…to forgive. …Rest mellon nin."

But now that Legolas knew that Aragorn was awake he could not rest and he asked in a stammer that would have been indignant but he was far too happy, "how long have you been awake?" He was hardly able to contain his excitement, like a child knowing he has just received the greatest gift he could ever get.

"I come…and go…" Aragorn sighed and shivered. "W-w-w-where…are we?" Legolas pulled Aragorn close, trying to share his body heat with the ranger who he could tell was absolutely miserable and losing his body heat at a rapid rate.

"The good captain Darcíl has helped us to our deaths inside this tunnel that supposedly leads to a safe village," Legolas answered incisively. "I bet there is no safe village," he assumed pessimistically. He really was beginning to build such fond memories of Harad. Perhaps he would return here for a vacation someday and have dinner with Dorrag himself! Yes, that sounded perfectly insane!

"Still so optimistic," teased the ranger around his chattering teeth.

"Well what do you expect, ranger? That I am going to say I love this place, this miserable death we have been sent to?" he hissed darkly as his cynical eyes closed in weariness.

"No." There was a dead silence that followed, broken by the sound of Aragorn's teeth resuming their chattering. "Why is it so wet?"

"The rains have flooded the inside of the duct, obviously," stated the Elf with bitter realism. He looked around and now that he was relaxing he could hear things more clearly. Drip...drip…drip…the water was creeping from the walls, creeping, creeping… dripping…dripping… The minute droplets of water were heavily grating on his nerves. But perhaps he was just turning paranoid. No, he amended, he was being paranoid.

"You really are feeling particularly cynical today, aren't you?" Aragorn mumbled as he tried in vain to smile. But his face hurt and for some odd reason he didn't seem to remember now.

Legolas's frown deepened and he said darkly and rather flatly, "you could say that." Shifting his weight he growled, "and if I could get you warmer I would, so don't you dare complain."

"Legolas, I'm not going to complain. I know you are doing your best-"

"Which is simply not good enough." Legolas wanted to bury his face in his hands and he leaned his head back against the wall in weary despair at their dark situation. Well, dark by _all_ standards if you really thought about it. Now he knew that he was going completely insane…

"Legolas, it is good enough. I am still alive and I know that you had some part in that, don't tell me you didn't. I owe a lot to you," Aragorn said as he searched for his friend's thin and damaged hand beneath the water. He found it, against his battered ribs, supporting him so he was not sinking deep beneath the murky surface. Placing his hand over the Elf's he said reassuringly, "there is an end to every tunnel."

"But not always a light," Legolas continued to be pessimistic and it was beginning to make Aragorn angry. He knew he shouldn't expect too much cheerfulness and hope from the immortal but he didn't think he would be this downright apathetic and sour about things! Legolas had surpassed his own record for stubbornness and dismal brooding once again. Typical.

"Legolas, there is always a light because once the tunnel has reached its end there is an outside world with light and the sun can shine through-"

"Unless outside it is night." Legolas cocked an eyebrow and looked at Aragorn to see if his point was made. Which he quickly came to realize once more than it was dark and in fact, that had not helped at all. If they didn't get out of the this darkness and see a single beam of true light very soon Legolas was certain that he would either go crazy or simply die. Between the two deplorable choices it was a draw.

But Legolas' comment had the desired effect as the ranger realized what the Elf had known all along. The tunnel was not going to be the end, unfortunately. There was going to be trouble to follow as usual. All Aragorn could do was knit his brow and mutter nearly inaudibly " we really put our foot in it this time."

Legolas smiled thinly in wry agreement. "Indeed." He then cast a small frown and said, "but the mire we found is a bit deeper and stronger than usual." He really was becoming quite pessimistic, which was an odd talent to possess (if it could be called a talent). But he really was having extreme difficulties seeing a light at the end of this tunnel or anything that resembled even a distant form of optimism. He was interrupted as he tried to figure whether this trait came from his mother's side or his father's side.

"Legolas, it will all turn out well," Aragorn encouraged as he tried to sit up and found that Legolas not about to allow him to do such a thing. "I can sit up on my own, Elf." He tried without success to shrug Legolas from him but once again Legolas proved to be perfectly adamant and unchangeable. The Elf tightened his grip instinctually as he felt Aragorn squirm in his grip.

"Ranger, you're in no state to be even trying or thinking about such a thing," the prince chided in his mother-henish voice that always made Aragorn chuckle.

"I am not a ranger only. I am a captain. I could have you beaten for lack of respect!" Aragorn teased lightly as Legolas smiled down at him in the dark. He felt the Elf shake slightly with a chuckle that appeared to be genuine.

"Yes, you could do that," mused the Elf in a mocking voice. "However, it is too bad that we are locked in this tunnel and my father would have your head." A drop of water fell from the ceiling and hit Legolas on his nose, causing the blonde being to briskly shake his head in annoyance and surprise. Why did they have to be trapped in this cave like place filled with water? His clothes…what was left of them…were sopping and he actually was beginning to feel chilled. It was disconcerting and he wrinkled his nose in annoyance as much as in confusion. That little tiny spike of immense uneasiness was slowly mounting in his heart and sitting still was gradually becoming a challenge as he felt himself becoming more and more uneasy.

"Your father might ask if he could do the honors," retorted Aragorn with a cheeky grin that he never thought he would be using again. However, Legolas had ways of disproving every assessment he made. Know it all Wood-Elf!

"You are probably right," Legolas admitted dryly before he gave a small chuckle. His voice then dropped to a sorrowful state and he muttered, "he probably has disowned me by now though." The brazen grin fell from the human's face as he heard his friend's words. Normally Legolas saying that he was right about anything would have been an invitation for merciless bantering between the two of them.

Aragorn noted the heartache in Legolas' voice and his back went rigid in alarm. He felt Legolas going taut as he grimaced in pain and distress. Glancing up at his friend though he couldn't see him in the dark, he said, "No. Legolas your father does love you and I bet he is hoping that you will return."

"Human, I was slightly exaggerating on purpose. But all the same, I know he is furious with me," the prince added in a crestfallen tone that ate away at Aragorn's heart. He knew that Legolas' father was all he really had left and that if they were separated forever they would both die. "Ah, well, I suppose I will never find out how things are going back home so I might as well not trouble myself about that."

Aragorn didn't say anything, not quite knowing what words would be best. He was very much afraid of causing more hurt to his friend or planting a false hope in Legolas' sensitive Elven heart. Instead, he just sighed, much to his ribs displeasure and protest. Feeling too weak to stay awake much, longer, he yawned and before he spoke again. "We should be traveling further if we wish to make good time."

"Aragorn, I am carrying you because you are far too weak to walk on your own. I myself am not in the best of conditions. We are going to go at the pace I chose and right now, I am worried for your health…"

"And you are tired," Aragorn broke in, waiting to see Legolas' immediate reaction, which he expected to be furious. But what he heard only increased his anxiety for Legolas' well being. This was the first time Legolas was allowing his weakness to show without regret or hesitation, he was actually being adamant. He was _willing_ admitting he was weakened.

"I am," the Elf agreed glumly. Legolas was about to try and rest when a screeching noise went up, causing both of the friends to nearly jump in alarm. Something swooped by Legolas' face, causing the Elf to lurch his head backwards and hit it slightly against the stone wall before he stopped himself. Wincing at the feeling of the stone's impact, the Elf scolded himself under his breath for being so stupid. Things would be swirling and dancing, Legolas told himself, if he could actually see.

Wings fluttered by his face and some more high-pitched noise rang in the prince's ears. It was a strange squeaking that Legolas had only heard once before, in caves. "Why did it have to be bats?" moaned the Elf in irritation and slight fear. He didn't fear bats but it made this place remind him even more sharply of a cave and he shivered involuntarily as he remembered past experiences in these subterranean grottos. 'Why did it have to be caves?' he moaned to himself mentally.

The leathery winged creatures flapped about his face some more and then swooped by Aragorn 's. Both of them flinched as they felt the wings brush their features. It was a disturbing, creepy sort of feeling and sent cold shivers chasing each other up and down their spines. The hair raised on the back of Legolas' head and Aragorn held the Elf's hand, knowing his fear of dark caves with no way out. The last thing he wanted was for Legolas to go insane now and damage himself and the situation even more.

"Menacing creatures," growled the Elf. But he knew that if there were bats, chances were the door or way out was closer than they had thought. But it could also mean there was another shaft or another opening. Were they alone in the dark? Were there eyes watching them from the darker places of the gloom? If so, were they friendly, or biding their time until they could spring their trap?

**TBC…. And would you folks look at that? Another evil cliffie! **


	14. Sun Set

_**CHAPTER FOURTEEN **_

Sun Set

White flakes, crystal, cold and ominous filled the sky and drifted slowly down sticking to the Elf's dark hair, flecking it with white briefly before it melted, leaving his hair slightly damp in places. The sky was now a cold and complete grey and looked like it was ready to dump even more snow at any given moment. The air was now definitely considered to be cold. Extremely frigid was a more accurate description. The puddles formed from the previous rain had iced over, leaving dangerous slippery places ideal for breaking an ankle or arm, or perhaps both.

Erestor looked out over the balcony and sighed heavily. He had already made the decision that he despised this weather. But now it was really just making things plain miserable and wretched. He ran his fingers through his dark hair, trying to detangle some nasty knots that had formed as a result of the frequent and high winds accompanying this tirade of snow and sleet.

He looked bleakly over to where he had last seen his friends, but they were long gone now, gone towards Mirkwood. But what worried him most is that he would place a bet of any given amount that they had not gotten over the mountains completely yet and he would also wager without much thought that the pass was probably no longer able to be defined as a "pass". If the orcs were not around to make the mountains unfit for travel then the weather sure was.

Shivering without even thinking about it, the counselor crinkled his brow in slight agitation and a meager regret. He wished he had gone with Elrond, Glorfindel and the twins. It was miserable having been left behind to wonder what dangers they were facing and what would become of them. He didn't like being here alone.

Well he wasn't truly alone but in a sense he was completely by himself. Elves were preparing to go to the Havens and he had no means to persuade them otherwise. He had tried everything and anything to convince them that this destruction would pass and Rivendell would be rebuilt but they would have none of it. Most felt they never should have lingered in Middle Earth. He had always known his own people could be this cynical, he just had never really truly took it to heart and believed it so now it was coming as a bit of an unappreciated shock.

But that was not the hardest thing to bear. The hardest was watching his home slowly but surely crumble and dissolve. There was no way that Rivendell could hold out much longer. He rivers had already flooded some of the lower dwellings and the Healing Wards were surprisingly full, considering that the usual patients were absent for the time being. Erestor chuckled slightly under his breath but it was hollow, completely hollow. He was pretty sure that it wasn't much more than an odd echo of sorts. 'Orcs have more cheerful laughter,' he thought forlornly. 'A Barrow Wight might sound happier.'

This was all because Estel was gone. Erestor knew it wasn't Aragorn's fault. He couldn't help how things played out. But the counselor wished to the Valar that Elrond had been able to hold out a little longer. Then it was quite probable that Rivendell would not be falling to pieces all around him right now. The rain had changed to an icy snow, he guessed this meant that Elrond's mood had become worse. But he also was certain that it meant the Misty Mountains were slowly taking back Rivendell and reclaiming what had been lost to them. Though he didn't like to think about it, he expected orcs to find the place and besiege it or at least try to capture and/or kill some Elves.

Erestor blinked as some snow blew into his eyes and he drew his hand across them, wiping away some more that had settled on his face, melting and freezing. Looking over to the East, he saw more clouds coming. 'Wonderful,' he thought sarcastically and rather alienated. 'More of them.' His eyes narrowed as he stared at them between unnaturally frequent blinks.

He suddenly heard a creaking noise.

It was similar to the sound one hears when a floor board is about to give way. There was just one thing about it that truly had him unnerved…it was about a hundred times as loud and the ground beneath him felt like it was trembling. The ground did not just tremble…at least _normally_. That was just something that never happened in Rivendell and if strange things had not been going on he would have thought that he had suddenly acquired a wild imagination. Looking down at this feet and then past the dried and dead leaves to the stony ground he saw the pebbles jumping and shaking across the ground.

Feeling the color drain from his face and not even trying to keep his composer, the adviser looked up slowly, not wanting to but knowing he had to. His eyes settled on a peculiar mountain's side on the horizon. It was moving. Mountains didn't just move, did they? No, of course not! So why was this one? He had a bad twisted feeling in his gut that it had something to do with the loud creak that was still ringing in his ears. He also picked up another distinct sound, trees snapping, popping, like twigs breaking in a gale or consumed in a fire. _Consumed_. The word shot through his awareness and throbbed in his mind…_consumed_….. He watched with a clenching stomach and constricting throat as the forest seemed to dissolve before his very eyes.

This was a landslide, logically. But in Rivendell? Bewildered thoroughly, Erestor felt a scream rising in the back of his throat and pushing forward to the front of his mind. But he was struck numb. His mouth moved soundlessly as he perceived the immense amount of danger they were all in. But he could not find his voice; it seemed to be stuck in his throat or simply nonexistent. He wasn't sure which at the moment and he obviously had no time to try and figure that bit out.

Then he realized with a fuddled clarity that he was screaming or _someone_ was. No, it _was_ most certainly himself. He was screaming for everyone to move clear, to run for their lives. But that wasn't his voice so high and shrill, was it? No. It couldn't be, it sounded so urgent, a very big change from his normally calm demeanor that he had prided himself in possessing. But it was his voice, it really was. He knew it was real and everything was still completely unreal and seemed as though it was dripped in cold and nearly crystallized honey.

Then he realized that it might actually be a good idea for him to move as he had advised the others. But upon trying to move his feet, which already felt like two useless lumps of lead, the counselor found that he could not get his legs to follow his instincts and brain's commands. He struggled and was putting up a decent fight but only succeeded in lifting a single foot and then placing it back down again. Alarm rising in his throat and his breathing accelerating as the realized the mortal danger he was in, the dark-haired Elf felt the strong feeling of panic taking over his senses and blocking out all logic.

He was going to die and that was about the extent of his knowledge at the moment. He saw the other Elves running by as fast as they were able, and that was _fast_. As he watched them run past he saw the pure and unaltered terror on their faces as the place that they had always considered to be a refuge and safe haven came crashing down to try and take their very lives. It was so heartbreaking and frightening to see that Erestor momentarily forgot his struggle and watched his friends and many others he had known for years simply run like Morgoth was on their heels with a fire brand. This was something they had no defense against.

He felt a tug on his arm and slowly turned his head to see Helinyetillë pulling at his elbow. Her face was contorted in terror and her eyes were as large as saucers or larger. "My lord, are you not going to flee for your life? I think it would be a wise decision." She looked up as the landslide came tumbling towards them taking out trees, buildings, _flets_, anything that got in its way and it seemed to be more than ready to add a shocked and gripped Elven counselor to its growing appetite.

Erestor just stood rooted to the ground and he turned his head away from her so slow it was like he was encased in molasses and his rounded grey eyes locked on the mass of earth and debris that was rumbling as it came to take his life and his lord's home…his home. It was so wonderful in a strange way. The power it possessed without being a god, or anyone with a governmental position was amazing and it held his attention like a sticky mess held flies. In his fascination with the horrible power of this natural disaster, Erestor didn't even blink and all thoughts of running were dissolved in his mind.

"My lord?" questioned the maiden quickly, unwilling to leave the counselor behind. She felt a strange attachment to him and if he was killed…she didn't know what she would feel like. It was a bizarre thing for her to feel when she considered that he did grate on her nerves something awful and she often wanted to show him a thing or two about getting into other people's business, starting with going though his papers and maybe crinkling a few of the corners...

But Erestor didn't even look at her. All he did was nod slowly in an attempt to show he was listening and comprehending. And then as the mass came closer and he saw trees being devoured and snapping like the kindling they were to the muddy fire, he suddenly realized he should move. It came upon him like lightening hitting a tree, with a flash. "I am coming, yes." He suddenly realized that his feet were not in fact two lumps of lead, but real feet, light and ready to flee. Not holding them back, he let them take him with the others as they headed for higher ground to avoid their certain deaths.

Helinyetillë ran beside him, dragging her long skirts. Erestor reached over and grabbed her arm to keep her from stumbling from a tremor that ran, as a large boulder was unleashed. Though she was an Elf-maiden, her long velvet skirts made her movements awkward when she ran.

As they reached the top of a sort of hill that looked over Rivendell and the Last Homely House they saw more homes and beautiful bridges being consumed and simply being taken away. The legacy of Rivendell was being obliterated.

Erestor felt anger burn in his chest and for a moment he saw everything to be tinged in red. This landslide was stealing everything from him and if it were an actual human being he wouldn't mind strangling it with his bare hands! And that was simply for starters.

Erestor blinked as he felt the snow fall harder and the wind pick up as it blew into his eyes and stung them. His face was ashen in shock and a certain despair that was inescapable. His momentary flash of anger had left only a void to be filled by immediate hopelessness. His dark hair whipped and smacked against his face. The other Elves behind him were watching quietly in dismay and sickening fear. Everything they had worked for so long was gone in he blink of an eye.

As he raised his eyes to look beyond the landslide to the mountains and beyond that even he saw the most scarlet sunset he had seen in a long time. It was literally the color of a rich and deep blood. He hoped that it wasn't an omen of something that was to come in the near future.

His eyes turned back to the racing mud and he noticed curiously that it was slowing. It had not truly reached the heart of Rivendell yet and the majority of houses were left unharmed…completely untouched. Not that it hadn't done its fair share of damage, but it hadn't destroyed everything. However, that didn't mean things couldn't change before Elrond returned. And it had been while Rivendell was under his responsibility.

O0O0O0O0O

Legolas shook his head as he shivered from the bat encounter. It still made his spine tingle and as Aragorn limped very slowly beside him, the Elven warrior and prince kept a hand on the wall, groping in the darkness for the mystery shaft. As much as he hated to do this being as uncertain as he was about what he would find, Legolas knew that he had to and that if he did not he was taking a great risk. Who knew what creatures or persons dwelled in the darkness? 'Knowing our luck it would be something sinister and bloodthirsty…' he thought detachedly.

Aragorn strode beside him as though in a dream. He was so weary and his torments had taken a heavy toll from his body. He could not help but to shake. He wasn't truly frightened, though he was afraid, if he wasn't he was an idiot. But fear wasn't why he was shaking like a young sapling in a gale. His body was sliding swiftly into a strange form of shock that left him with the most bizarre feeling of detachment and loneliness that no words could describe. He stumbled and felt a strong arm reach out and catch him.

"We must rest, Aragorn," Legolas commented in a way that stated it wasn't a suggestion, it was a definite command. "You must rest. You are less than half alive." _And that has to be the understatement of the century. _

"And you're more alive?" asked Aragorn as he swayed in dark, grateful that his companion was not able to see it. He frowned and felt his legs quivering as he tried to still them. He was too weak though he was more than a little hesitant to admit that to anyone, mostly himself.

"Now is not the time to test my patience," the blonde Elf warned tartly as he shook his head. 'Closed-minded, headstrong ranger,' Legolas chuckled inwardly though he felt the appropriate emotion would probably be aggravation or anger. His lips turned into a thin smile despite himself as he recalled times when he would have said what he just said in a jest. Now he was serious. His patience was as short as it came and soon it would be gone. Then he would choke his devious, pig-headed, numb-skulled friend within an inch of his life. The only thing he truly regretted was that it was dark and he could not see Aragorn's face while administrating the choking grip on the man's neck with his bare hands. What part of the word 'rest' was not understood by humans, particularly _this one_?

Aragorn remained silent and then breathed a deep and exhausted breath as he felt his legs giving out. Legolas caught him and eased him down slowly, with care that the ranger should take no more hurt than he could help. Then the Elf squatted down by his companion and said with a dreary sigh that lacked heart behind it, "I do hate this place. Harad is entirely overrated. First of all, its people are absolutely insane, or at least the soldiers, especially Sarchel. Then of course the weather is the most deplorable stuff I have seen in decades and the accommodations are far less than appealing."

"I am not so sure. I thought it looked like a marvelous place for a holiday. I really do not know what you are talking about," said Aragorn dryly around wheeze of pain that sneaked into his voice. He resisted the urge to intake sharply as his ribs blazed and his wounded shoulder felt like it was on fire. He could feel in infection setting in and naturally that was something Legolas must never know. The Elf would never forgive himself and most likely would do something insane in his wrath that he might not live to regret. 'Like march right out of this tunnel and demand Sarchel's head on a pike,' Aragorn suggested inwardly.

Legolas smiled grimly, "ahh…they must have blinded you as well as break your bones and dismember your joints my friend." He flexed his sore hand that had been through Hell and winced inwardly as he felt needle like pain in all of the digits of his hand. It was not simply pain though; it was annoying as well because it limited his fighting skills with a knife and his bow action. He could switch hands and work the other hand more to build of the skill of his right but he really didn't want to do that. It was so inconvenient.

"No, they were kind enough to let me keep my eyes," Aragorn snickered as he leaned against Legolas carefully, knowing the Elf's own wounds and the pain he guessed the blonde immortal was experiencing and hiding. He felt Legolas' body tense and immediately jerked back, fearing to have caused the prince extreme pain.

"It's alright. Just brushed against some old wounds is all," the Elf assured as he willed his throbbing and taut muscles to relax against the ranger's weight. He pulled Aragorn close as much to comfort himself as the ranger. He felt frightened in this dark, dank, merciless, wet, cold and creepy cave. "This place gives me the creeps."

Aragorn raised a brow and looked with humor back at the Elf. "I've noticed."

"Have you now?" asked Legolas as he shivered again and rolled his eyes dramatically as he realized that was at least the fifth time in five minutes. That was roughly once per minute…

"Indeed. It is not a hard thing to perceive," Aragorn allowed and held his breath as he began to wheeze some more from his torments. "You hate this place."

"I believe I have stated that briefly before, yes," the blonde prince laughed with arcane. He finally managed to hold back another shiver and felt a brief amount of victory wash over him. "It is a cave in disguise."

Aragorn didn't respond for a minute, wondering what to say. He had the slight fear that he might stir old memories or help to create some newer ones. He finally spoke softly; "well eventually we shall get out. You shall see your father again and Mirkwood's beautiful forest in the twilight beneath the stars."

Legolas lowered his head and replied in a choked voice, "and even then the night shall be only half-spent."

At this Aragorn sat up abruptly and in alarm. "Legolas, what ever do you mean by that? You shall be home! And-"

"I did not leave on very good terms with my father and king. If I go back nothing will ever be the same again. By defying a direct order from my father I have garnered death or at least time in the cells. I am an outcast in my own land," Legolas finished sadly as he felt hot tears trying to seep from the corners of his eyes. There was an indisputable unsteadiness to his voice and one could not leave the perception of heavy sorrow unmarked.

"Legolas, he is your father. He loves you immensely! He would weep heavily if he could see you now," Aragorn reassured promisingly to the Elf, whose heart he could tell was breaking. "I know he would take you back even if the Valar themselves expressly forbid it."

Legolas sighed and said, "I don't expect you to understand. Aragorn, you are a friend, you are a brother, but this is something you cannot protect me from and that I must face myself."

Feeling a strong sense of rejection and heartache, the ranger shifted his weight and stood up shakily. "You are right, Legolas. I cannot help you. But I can stick by your side and I mean to. You stuck by mine, even when you were captured, when you knew because of your race you would be put through greater pain."

"Sit down Estel!" snapped the Wood-Elf as he felt the last shred of his patience fading swiftly away. "You are too weak to be up! It will be your death for certain!"

"And this brooding in the darkness won't be yours?" asked Aragorn incredulously. "I have to believe that there is an end to this darkness! As do you!" declared the dark-haired man as he glowered down at the Elf with a grim determination. If it had not been dark and Legolas had seen Aragorn's face he would have known that Aragorn was not angry with him. As it was less than dim in the room he could see nothing of facial emotions.

"You are insane!" he spat back at the human. He was beginning to feel anger building and all his emotion that he had been so long withholding was beginning to break forth. The horrible thing was that Aragorn was in its destructive path.

"Legolas, I will get you home!" Aragorn promised as he swished the water with his feet, sending a ripple in the sitting Elf's direction. "I dragged you into this and I will drag you out, whether you want to come out or not."

"What I chose to do is not entirely your business Estel!" Legolas began to stand up, forbidding his legs to fold beneath him. His frame shook with emotion as much as with weakness and pain.

"Very well then," Aragorn consented crossly. "But I am getting my men free and I am going home. Now will you be here or will I be alone?" His voice went strangely calm and he felt a strange tranquil feeling merge over his senses. Then he felt nothing. His shock was getting a tighter grip on him and was beginning to suffocate him.

"I am with you, as always," Legolas said in half a breath. He felt his breath go short and he stumbled backwards in a strange and brief confusion followed by a sudden pain that flared up his breast and through his neck then flooded his head. His vision quelled for moment and he floundered backwards in the water. Legolas put his hands out behind himself, expecting to catch himself on a solid rock wall.

However, he realized with panic, there was no rock wall. There was nothing. He was falling through black space and then he felt icy water run over him, with a current akin to that of a river. It tugged and nipped at him, trying to pull him under its sparse inches. He also became aware that water was falling like rain about him, only in much larger droplets; the result of what he guessed was a huge splash. Until he shut his mouth he had not realized he had given a cry of temporary and abrupt uncertainty and fear. He had not even heard himself.

Aragorn heard Legolas' cry and splash. Instinctively he went forward a few steps but fear of what he might find held him back from taking a few more. "Legolas? Where are you? Are you hurt?"

"Beyond the already acquired injuries? No," came the curt reply that came from a voice that sounded more than a little shaken. "And please do not step forward or I fear you might step on me." Aragorn crinkled his brow in concern and abashment. Legolas could be arguing like nothing else one minute and being as obstinate as ever then turn around and be the cheerful Wood-Elf he was at heart. Sometimes he had the sense Legolas was a bit more…complicated…than he knew of. He nearly stepped forward before he remembered what Legolas had said last.

"Well then what should I do?" he asked calmly. He would have shrugged but with the condition his shoulders were in he felt that was hardly the appropriate thing to do. "Where are you?"

There was silence for about a minute.

"I am in what appears to be the other shaft where our winged friends live," the Elf concluded at length. "It seems to have been created by the water that flows through it."

"You can see it?" Aragorn asked in shock as he squinted. Maybe he had gone blind…All he saw was the dark. His hand was invisible at the moment.

"Of course not. Try not to be stupid, please," Legolas growled as he tried to sit up.

"Sorry," Aragorn muttered covered by his breath in a growl of his own.

"I can feel the current of the water," asserted the Elf wisely as he sat on his knees. "It carved this shaft. But I can hear the sound of water trickling in further back." He frowned and said nearly to himself, "there has to be an entrance and exit somewhere."

"How do you know that you aren't hearing an echo?" inquired the human tersely as he carefully placed one foot forward and slowly set it down, making sure not to step on anything soft, like an Elf for instance. In this manner he continued forward a pace or two before he felt Legolas' presence directly beside him and he stopped.

"Well, I don't. But perhaps if we can find our way to this entrance (or exit) if that is truly what my ears are hearing, then we can escape quicker. I can't endure this cold darkness much longer. I must see the sun or I shall go rabid." Legolas stiffened as a shiver traced his spine and the hair rose on the back of his neck. He shuddered slightly in defiance of his efforts and blinked back sleep in his eyes.

"It's a bit late for that," Aragorn teased gently as Legolas cast a hidden glare up at him, though he knew that this cross, know-it-all human was actually probably relatively rectified.

"You have not the slightest idea," grumbled the prince with a smile pulling at his mouth's corners. He raised himself up to his feet and nearly fell again but a hand caught his arm and supported him until he found his feet. "I'm just tired."

"You also are just a liar," Aragorn countered as he felt a lurking grin begin to grow to reasonably large dimensions. He reluctantly released Legolas' arm, not sure about whether or not Legolas could stand on his own. He had his doubts but Legolas always had a way of disproving those sorts of things. It was one of Legolas' annoying and purely bizarre talents that drove people to distraction at times.

"That too," Legolas admitted with a wry grin and he flexed his inflamed and distressed fingers again. The cold water had stiffened them though Legolas was also pretty sure it had helped reduce the swelling to some degree. He was going to make them pay for damaging his hand this badly.

"You would admit that proudly, wouldn't you?" Aragorn asked with a meager stab of irritation.

"It depends on the occasion," Legolas bantered. He suddenly felt very cold from the water and began to shiver. From the vibrations he was feeling at his side he knew that Aragorn was shivering right along with him. Legolas had never truthfully felt this cold in a long time and it was unnerving. "However, I concede that lying is not an attractive trait in an individual." Aragorn nodded in silent agreement though the Elf never saw it.

"Are we going to explore this new duct then?" he asked as though they were getting ready to depart and explore a new section of forest.

"We could but I wonder," Legolas began. "I wonder if we will lose the main tunnel, the one we chiefly need." He wasn't entirely sure that the risk was worth it. If they got lost they would never be found again and would surely starve to death or die from lack of sunlight. And if these rains continued they could very well drown in here.

Aragorn was about to comment when there was a rumbling sound and both of them crouched as it came from over head. It was deep and ominous. If they could have seen each other's face it is likely they wold have exchanged doomed glances. The tunnel was coming down.

O0O0O0O

Darcíl waited in the throne room as calmly as he might. He didn't think that he had been found out yet. No guards had been down there since he allowed Legolas and Aragorn to escape. But that didn't make him feel the least ounce better about being summoned to his liege's throne room. Being summoned was hardly ever a good thing and he was convinced it was his lord's way of spying on his subjects and officers.

He immediately squared his shoulders proudly as he heard the doors open to Prince Dorrag's study chambers. Not that he thought Dorrag actually used them for their purpose but that was where he had been anyway. Clearing his throat he gave a curt bow speaking both politely and appropriately, "my lord." Raising his head he saw Dorrag smiling, which was something that made a hair or two stand up on the back of his head. The things Dorrag took pleasure from were not exactly the things that made him comfortable.

"Ah, Captain," greeted Dorrag serenely but with a joyous voice. "I must have the Elf brought out of his cell." Darcíl nearly choked and a tremor of alarm ran through his awareness as he realized what this meant. He was as good as dead now. Seeing movement behind Dorrag he watched in curiosity as another man stepped out from behind. "Is something wrong captain? You look as though you have seen a ghost." Dorrag wrinkled his brow and watched as the officer shook his head proclaiming the negative.

"Well then I will impart to you my plans which I shall need your aid to carry out." He stepped aside and cordially allowed the black-haired man behind him to come forth. "I assume that you are familiar with Cortanyar, the captain, in charge of the prison barracks?"

Darcíl nodded grimly. "Aye." He looked Cortanyar in the eye as he inquired, "You were a healer at one time, correct?" He resisted the urge to shiver as pure evil and cunning radiated from this man staring him squarely back with amusement twinkling in his eyes. He could already tell this man was just as evil as Sarchel but far more devious and actually had his fair share or more of common sense and wisdom. Well "wisdom" might not have been the correct word, but he could think of no other. Either way you looked at it, Cortanyar had a strange source of intelligence.

"It is good to be remembered. Yes, I was at one time," Cortanyar addressed smoothly as he gave a small laugh that sounded colder than ice and completely hollow. "That was until I was accused of murder. You should remember that well." A tone of ice and steal resonated behind his false voice of cordials.

"I thought you died in prison," Darcíl kept his voice carefully flat. He gave the man grinning before him a glare that might have made even Legolas shudder. His eyes turned hard and his lips went into a thin white line of evident surprise and anger.

"Fortunately no," Cortanyar smiled all the more as Darcíl's glower darkened. He cleared his throat and was about to continue when Dorrag interrupted; sensing there was tenseness between the two officers that he had not fully anticipated.

"He wants the Elf for…experimental purposes," Dorrag's voice trailed off, as he looked sidelong at the ex-healer that was nodding in silent agreement.

"And what exactly does that make of our plans?" asked Darcíl stiffly. He did like this turn of events at all. If someone had told him that Sauron had turned on them and was ready to devour them alive he would have been more comfortable than this. At least the battle lines would be clear, as they weren't now. "What sort of experiments are we talking about here?"

"Many things," returned Cortanyar as he looked to Dorrag expectantly. His black eyes flickered as he frowned a moment in displeasure at the questions being thrown at him from this man whom he was in no mind to be calling his superior.

Dorrag finally intervened. "What he does to the Elf is his business as long as he is alive in the end. But we have made a pact. If the Elf starts to break he will get what information we need from him and then finish the experiment he is on before turning the brat over to us again."

"What if something goes totally wrong?" Darcíl persisted. "It could ruin all of our plans!" He was beginning to seethe with anger as he realized that in effect he was being replaced.

"Do you think I am not aware of that, Captain Darcíl?" Dorrag asked around a set of set teeth. He was feeling his temper beginning to rise at the needless prodding of his head captain. This was his kingdom, his word, and his rule. He did not appreciate being interrogated by his men, which he commanded with even a mere whim. Even if this prying was necessary Darcíl still should not be making it is his business to do it! "Do not question me! Am I understood?"

"Completely," Darcíl answered between grinding teeth of his own.

"Excellent. Then I want you to accompany Captain Cortanyar to the accommodations below and help him bring the Elf to his quarters in the camp," Dorrag commanded crossly. His eyes narrowed as he asked in an irritated hiss with his hands clenching, "do you have a problem with that, captain?"

"No, my lord," Darcíl lied, nearly crestfallen. His family was dead. Prince Dorrag would find out soon that he had allowed the Elf and ranger to escape and then his family and he were all going to die. Anger rose in his heart as he thought of those two prisoners who were now going to live. He wanted nothing more than to find and kill them but that would exceed the purpose of releasing them. Feeling torn between rage and heartache, the man nodded to Cortanyar. "Follow me, if you will."

Cortanyar smiled tensely, "of course."

It was not more than a few minutes when they were entering the last few feet before they were able to open the door to Legolas and Aragorn's cell. He glanced down at Cortanyar who was at least a head shorter. He couldn't be more than five foot four at the most and the Haradrim captain strongly suspected it to be less. "So you didn't die from fever in prison as we had supposed?" his questioned spoken with a bitter scorn.

"I like to consider myself to be a survivor," replied the black-eyed man as he glanced up at Darcíl who was shaking his head.

They were nearly ready to open the door to the cell. But as of yet Cortanyar had not looked inside to see that both of the captives had disappeared. "So you murder others make yourself feel powerful?" asked Darcíl skeptically. He snorted softly and stopped as he sensed Cortanyar had stopped further behind.

"I kill for science and proficiency, sir," he growled thickly. "But if you mean do I enjoy it, I will tell you that I do immensely. And I am powerful. I do no have to force myself to believe I am. If you kill, torture and maim you have power. Fear is power. I think you know exactly what I mean."

"Don't be so sure," Darcíl bit out. "How did it come about you were released then?" he asked curiously, giving the man a strange look as he raised a single brow to emphasize the question.

"Prince Dorrag needs one whom he can trust placed in charge at the camp where he keeps those cursed Gondorians. And he needs one who can break the Elf." The ex-healer sighed and said with a smile, "this is going to be so much fun." Darcíl felt now thoroughly repulsed and he shuddered inwardly.

"He is more stubborn than you would think. We have put him through Hell and he still hasn't said a word of betrayal," Darcíl shook his head as he spoke. Cortanyar didn't have any idea what he was getting himself involved in. There was one time when Darcíl would have been just as excited to torture an Elf, but now he hated all of it. He was soldier and a warrior. He fought, he didn't torture. "But who trusts the word of a murderer?"

"Perhaps you simply didn't know what you were doing. You know what the men at the camp call me?" he asked with a sick grin spreading across his face. "The Angel of Death. I will extract everything from the miserable creature before I stop anything." He was ignoring the fact he had been called a murderer, not because he didn't want to hear it, but because he didn't care.

They continued walking and Cortanyar placed a hand on the cell door then froze in his tracks. "Is this the correct cell?" he asked stiffly. It was barren, not a creature within, even the rats were gone. His voice echoed off o the stone walls, validating that emptiness. He scowled and asked again in a calm voice that was nearly a whisper, "is this where we are supposed to be?"

"The have escaped," Darcíl growled darkly. It was only a matter of time before someone discovered how and they were all killed. Dorrag would never forgive this intrusion on his rule and this deliberate disobedience. Everyone relatively involved would taste death. Unless he found the Elf and ranger first then they might stand a chance together. He didn't care if they died or not, but he was not going to sacrifice his family. They would pay with their lives first.

O0O0O0O

Legolas reached out and grabbed Aragorn's arm, jerking the ranger off his feet and pulling him aside to the temporary safety of the newly made shaft. A large piece of stone came tumbling down just where Aragorn had been standing and he let out a deep breath slowly as he realized how close he had come to being flatter than a piece of Lembas bread. That was an amusing thought, he thought grimly.

More stones and earth came toppling down and made large splashes as it plummeted into the murky water below. Legolas grabbed Aragorn by his arm once more and proceeded to pull him backward as they were forced deeper into the small branch of the subterranean grotto. "Get back Strider," commanded Legolas gruffly. "Are you truly aspiring to be flatter than a piece of the Lake Men's _cram_?"

"I might have been," answered Aragorn darkly as Legolas held his shoulders gently until he was stable enough to stand on his own. Aragorn shivered then and then laughed nervously. "Well maybe I actually wasn't, but it wouldn't have mattered if you hadn't pulled me out of the way."

"Well your father would kill me if I would return you to him less than an inch tall and so mashed up that you make Caranfëa look exceedingly tall," teased the Mirkwood Prince with a cheeky grin. "Of course your injuries might also serve to enhance his anger just a little bit."

"I would think," replied Aragorn with a soft snort and a chuckle. He sighed once more and said, "Legolas?"

"What?" inquired the prince tiredly.

"I think our choice was made for us," Aragorn said dryly. He rolled his eyes around as though he was looking through the darkness to the tunnel walls about them. "We can either take this new passage or go back."

Go back…the words pulsed in Legolas' ears. He couldn't go back. He would much rather slit his own throat first. He would not go back to be at their mercy and be forced to take a large punishment for an attempted escape. Aragorn would be murdered if they went back. Legolas felt determination fire up in his heart like he had not felt it do in a long time and he felt it run through him, fueling his meager strength that was draining more and more every minute. Going back, returning and submitting to darkness and death was not an option.

"We are not going back." He growled out in a stony voice. "I would rather die here, but I don't think we will." He tensed as he felt anger towards the people who had done this to him and Aragorn return. "I have something I have to do before the end."

O0O0O0O

Elrond squared his shoulders as he looked stonily ahead through a set of grey eyes hidden deep inside his cloak's dark blue hood. Glorfindel rode anxiously beside his friend and his eyes remained locked on the Lord of Imladris. He could feel Elrond struggling to remain in control of Vilya but he could also feel Elrond losing. He suddenly wondered if Imladris had not yet been revealed to Sauron. All the little things that held the refuge together had to be failing.

Elladan and Elrohir rode slowly in the back; their identical faces were masked by the hoods of their matching dark purple cloaks. Neither of them had spoken for some time. Well that wasn't entirely true, but they hadn't been themselves. Usually they were far more talkative and far more obnoxious than what they were now. They could actually be considered peaceful and well behaved.

Glorfindel crinkled his nose as a single large crystal white snowflake landed directly on it, melting and then re-freezing. He hated going over mountain passes and that was one of the reasons. The weather was always less than welcoming. The raised masses of earth seemed to delight in making everyone's lives miserable who dared to even consider going over them. The snow began to fall harder and fast as the mountains' unleashed their wrath and frustrations. "I never thought you could be hated by a mountain," Glorfindel jested wryly as he pulled his grey hood closer about his face and glanced up towards the heavens, watching the millions of white flakes descend to the cold ground and landing on anything and everything else in the process.

"Apparently it's possible," Elrohir snorted as he drew his cloak tighter about himself, not out of cold but more out of comfort. "I agree that it is rather strange to be hated by a mindless hunk of rock."

Glorfindel cast the younger twin a sharp glare and growled, "and lets see how much more angry we can make it by calling it "mindless" and a "hunk of rock"!" He rolled his eyes dramatically and sighed. "Why we decided to bring you both along I really can't remember. I must have been going through a lapse of sanity at the time when I agreed to this."

Elrond nearly chuckled but he was a bit too saddened for that so at the most a smile spread across his face. "Glorfindel, I can very easily see what you mean about Elladan and Elrohir finding trouble."

"What?" Elladan asked in abashment. He tossed his hood back and cast a scathing glare at everyone present, including a few rocks that just happened to be unlucky enough to be there. "I protest! Just because I am Elrohir's twin does not mean we are exactly alike!"

This drew a small chuckle from everyone save Elrond. The Lord of Imladris simply shook his head and wondered if Elladan had any idea how pathetically stupid he had just sounded. He decided that Elladan probably did not and his smile faded as he felt the cold wind growing stronger and heard it whistling a mournful tune among the many crevices and fissures of the mountain terrain.

"You know exactly what I meant!" snapped Elladan. "Just because Elrohir finds trouble frequently doesn't mean I am just as talented at it as he is! We aren't attached at the hip you know!" Elladan normally wouldn't have possessed such a short temper but as always his anxiety about Estel was getting the better of him and clearly everyone else.

Everyone fell to silence and Elrohir glanced sidelong at Elladan, who was looking at the ground angrily. But Elrohir knew that Elladan was not angry with any of them, he was angry with himself. He should have gone with Estel; he should have been there with his little brother to make sure that everything would be alright. But now for all he knew Aragorn was dead. Elrohir sighed as Glorfindel and Elrond started to ride further through the pass. "Come, brother. Being angry with yourself and wishing to relive the past won't bring him back. All we can do is continue and hope for the best."

Elladan sighed and bit out angrily, "you don't understand, do you? I should have been there, I should have guided him! Instead I decided I had been away from home too long and wanted to stay and rest. In return I found no rest." It was rather ironic, he thought darkly as he felt his heart feeling like it was shrinking. The very thing he had tried to avoid was the very thing he had found.

"If you remember, I wanted to stay home too. You are not entirely to blame. But Estel is forty in years of his own people. He is a part of their world whether we want him to be or not. We can't be with him forever. He is now fully grown and on his own," Elrohir said quietly. He then added, "It hurts me too, Elladan. But we have separate roads now."

Elladan shook his head to try and clear it of the sorrow he felt. He looked up at Elrohir and gave a half smile while his eyes remained entirely hurt looking. "Elrohir, promise me that you will always be beside me. I don't want to lose both of my brothers." He looked into his younger twin's grey eyes and watched as Elrohir smiled broadly. "And promise me you will never, under any circumstances say that there are separate roads!"

"I promise. But remember, we aren't joined at the hip!" he reminded in a tease, playing on Elladan's little tirade he had earlier.

Elladan rolled his eyes dramatically and said emphatically, "did I not just say that?"

Elrohir was about to make a quick remark when the horse he was on shied and pawed dirt up from the rocky earth. It snorted and began to shiver. Patting its neck Elrohir searched the sky and land about him with scrupulous eyes as he asked, "What's wrong?" The animal tried to turn around to bolt but Elrohir reined it in. "Something's wrong."

"Obviously," Elladan retorted as he struggled to maintain control over his own horse. But he was losing as the creature began to snort in some form of terror. Looking down at the horse he commanded gently and comfortingly as he might, "steady, steady."

Then Elrohir heard what the horses had long been aware of. A deep rumbling and an intense grating sound like rock sliding against rock. It was screeching and breaking… That was something that was not an everyday occurrence, or even a yearly occurrence. He looked at Elladan and asked in a hushed voice, "Do you not hear it?"

"I do. It's the mountain." Elladan stopped trying to control his horse as the creature jerked its head up abruptly and listened, swiveling its ears to catch the sound. Elladan's forehead crinkled in alarm and a growing discontent as he realized what these strange sounds meant. Some of the mountain was going to come down right upon their heads. "Do you think father and Glorfindel know?" he asked of Elrohir hurriedly.

"How should I know that?" asked Elrohir right back as he looked around frantically, searching for the source of the rockslide. "Should we go and tell them?" Elrohir began to feel to his face draining of color.

Elladan smiled as he drew the reins in closer on his horse and raised himself up in the saddle, preparing to ride the creature hard. "Does this not remind you of old times?"

"Unfortunately," Elrohir muttered. In those old times somehow he had always been the one to get hurt. Those were times before Estel, before they met Legolas. Those were the times when they were simply Elladan and Elrohir.

Elladan suddenly yelled, "ride!" With that he dug his heels sharply into his horse's sides and the creature bolted forward. The horse's mane smacked against his face and he flicked his head aside to give it a diverting path so the horsehair did not sting his eyes. His cloak fanned out behind him and he glanced quickly over his shoulder but he didn't see Elrohir.

Not having time or the chance to wonder about the whereabouts of his brother, Elladan continued to ride. He called out loudly, "Elrohir!"

"I'm right here! No need to blow my eardrum!" Elrohir proclaimed as he glanced sidelong at Elladan, whose face was one of shock. His mouth hung wide open as his jaw dropped in surprise.

"You-" Elladan snapped.

"You didn't think I would let you outride me, did you?" asked Elrohir as he spurred his horse on. A loud crack came from behind and both of the brothers looked back. Cold air filled their lungs as they drew a deep breath of frosty air that made their chests feel light and frozen.

"Elrond, where are Elladan and Elrohir?" asked Glorfindel as he gave his friend a strange look. The snow blew about them.

"Oh, no. Not them too," Elrond moaned wearily. He looked at Glorfindel with a disquieted frown.

"I am not sure, my friend," Glorfindel answered as he felt Asfaloth suddenly go tense beneath him. The horse snorted loudly and began to back up and then he stamped his back foot and snorted again. Glorfindel flipped his hood back to sharpen his senses, mainly his hearing that was fogged by the material over lapping his ears. His golden hair fell about his shoulders in blonde waves. "Asfaloth, what is it?" he asked quietly, placing his head near the horse's ear.

Elrond gave Glorfindel a curious expression and then suddenly his own horse began to perform its own antics. Elrond tried to control the horse but all his energy was being used in trying to maintain Vilya, who was escaping him. The ring was taking up what energy was not used in mourning.

His horse suddenly gave a loud snort and began to back step and kick. Elrond looked at Glorfindel, who was watching the stones around him. The golden-haired Elf finally heard the rumbling and then he heard another noise -galloping hooves… Elladan and Elrohir were riding ahead of the rockslide.

Elrond saw his sons coming over the crest of the hill that he and Glorfindel had just recently gone over and his eyes widened in alarm. "Elladan! Elrohir!" He cried for his children to hurry. But his cry was too much for the horse, which suddenly kicked out and Elrond found himself falling and watching while the horse jumped aside in terror as it heard the rockslide coming.

"Coward horse!" he cursed the beast under his breath. He looked at Glorfindel's horse's legs as the horse stopped alongside of him. Glorfindel extended his hand down to the Lord of Imladris and Elrond gladly took it. The Balrog slayer pulled him up on the horse so that Elrond was seated behind him.

Elladan and Elrohir pulled their horses to a blunt stop and there was the sound of the creatures' hooves scraping up soil and churning up gravel as they hurried to do their masters' bidding. "There is a rock slide. It seems Elrohir's comment earlier about "mindless" rock didn't bode well with the mountains." Elladan glanced back at his twin who was grinning sheepishly and said, "Now we have a mountain out for our blood! Thank you so much!"

"Well it's not like I told it to take it this way!" Elrohir argued before Glorfindel had the wisdom to intervene.

"Well I wish we could stay here and argue this until the mountain comes down on our heads but I think it might result in our untimely deaths!" The golden-haired Elf snorted and grumbled beneath his breath, "and to think I thought this might actually be a reasonably safe trip. I am going to be lucky if I do not need Galadriel herself to heal me once I get to Loríen!"

Elrond looked curiously at Glorfindel and then rolled his eyes. "I do not even want to know."

Glorfindel glared darkly at the raven-haired Elf-lord and said slowly, "that was so funny I forgot how to laugh." A loud screech echoed as the rocks slid closer and ground against one another.

"Well you will have to remember how later," Elrond said dryly as he looked behind at the rocks tumbling their way. "Otherwise you will be introducing us all to Mandos."

Elladan and Elrohir began to ride further then slowed their horses and spun them around, looking to see if their father and Lord Glorfindel had any intention of coming along with them. With the snow billowing about them, creating a 'mist' or curtain it created a rather dramatic scene. Glorfindel reluctantly urged Asfaloth forward and then all four of them rode away on three horses.

Glorfindel had a strange feeling, like he should turn back and leave Elrond and his sons to themselves. He had a feeling he was needed back home. His heart told him that rockslide they had just experienced wasn't because of anything Elrohir had said. It had something to do with Rivendell. Erestor was in more danger than he originally thought.

**TBC…Not so much of an evil cliffie, sorry. But there are plenty more chapters and chances to create some evil ones! Muahaha! No worries. **

**Review? Please? Yes? Thanks! We love them all, you guys are great, honestly! **

**Thanks for the reviews for chapter thirteen! **


	15. In a Heart Beat

**Happy reading and please review! Thank you! **

_**CHAPTER FIFTEEN**_

In a Heart Beat 

Erestor shook his head in sorrow and regret as he walked among the Elves and Elf-maidens in the crowded corridors of the Last Homely House. A good deal of homes had been simply wiped out by the sweeping torrent of mud and fallen timber. It was a miracle that there was not more damage and that the landslide had stopped when it had. If it hadn't he could almost bet that he would be dead and all of Rivendell demolished.

Puling out a piece of parchment and a quill he took down the name of an Elf that had lost his home and everything in it. "I will get back with you as soon as I can," Erestor promised. "But I am more than occupied at the moment." He rubbed the quill's tip nervously with his thumb, a bad habit he had thought he had broken himself of years ago.

The Elf gave a dry cough and then said dismally, "if you want to get back with me then you must seek me at the Havens for thither I am going." Then the immortal sighed heavily and said, "I can't stay here any longer. I can't see anything left." Erestor nodded and winced as the quill's sharp tip pricked his finger and he felt hot blood leak out.

"I understand. But here is still hope we can rebuild. What is Rivendell without the Elves?" he asked as he applied pressure to his stabbed finger by pressing it against his palm in an attempt to stop the meager trickling of his blood. It was stinging just as his heart was at the moment. "I need all the help I can get."

"My apologies Lord Erestor, but you shall have to find it elsewhere," declared the Elf. "I am going home." He his fingers through his silvery hair in bewilderment and emotional pain. His sea-grey eyes had a sick look in them and his face took on a green shade, Erestor noted with a churning feeling of worry and grief in the pit of his own stomach.

"But Rivendell is your home!" protested the counselor adamantly. "It will all be well. Have patience until Lord Elrond and Lord Glorfindel return. They shall set things right but until then we must make due. That is how civilizations survive."

"Lord Erestor then maybe Rivendell wasn't meant to last," the immortal continued to argue bitterly. He looked at his feet, layered with mud, caked on them, making his feet seem oddly clunky and awkward.

"Isil-" Erestor began before he was rudely cut off by the silver-haired Elf.

"My lord, I am finished here," Isil stated flatly. "I am leaving as soon as I am able." He gave a curt bow. "I am sorry Lord Erestor."

Erestor shook his head mournfully and then said to Isil, "It is well. I understand. But may I inquire something of you?" he asked quietly as he looked down at his pricked finger with disdain.

Isil looked at his lord curiously. "Indeed, but I may or may not be able to answer it." He crinkled his forehead, wondering if Erestor had finally gone completely off the deep end. He frowned and watched as Erestor blinked and then drew a long and heavy breath.

"How many others are of the same mind as yourself?" Erestor's voice was quiet and his eyes looked deep and crestfallen. He had let Lord Elrond down. Glorfindel would have never let this happen!

Isil looked uncomfortable. "Nearly all, my lord. They wish to depart." He was frightened as to what his lord's reaction would be. He didn't want to hurt Erestor any more than the counselor was already hurting and certainly didn't want to only enhance the problems Imladris was having.

Erestor nodded slowly and he rocked back on his heels. "Oh," was all he said and it was so low hardly any could catch it. His steel-grey eyes closed as he fought the urge to weep for his homeland that was crumbling away. Logically he knew it wasn't his fault, not hardly. For who can stop a landslide or create it other than the Valar themselves? But his heart and emotion said he could have stopped it if he had tried hard enough. Opening his eyes slowly, the counselor said thickly, "thank you. That is all."

It seemed to Erestor as he walked further through the over crowded corridors it seemed to him that the Elves were all feeling sick. They had come here for refuge and security and now in one fateful day it was taken away. The candles in the walls were meant to make the night less dark but the dark-haired counselor didn't think they made any difference.

As he walked along, taking down names he stopped where he saw an Elf on a stretcher. His leg was bloodied and his face was white. Helinyetillë was pressing a tea soaked cloth to the wound meant to have some convalescent effect and Erestor clenched his hand around his quill in stinging sympathy as he heard the other Elf hiss in pain. His face seemed to go a shade whiter and his golden hair looked nearly as dark as Erestor's own against his translucent face. The healer-maiden looked up at Erestor and her face was grave. "He was unable to escape a stone in time, it sliced clean through his legging and tore a gash in his leg. It might have done more damage, I cannot say, I have not yet checked. I need stitches, but I dare not leave him alone for fear he will bleed out."

Erestor felt his stomach turn but he said reluctantly, "I shall hold the cloth until you return with stitches." He carefully placed his paper and quill on the ground then pulled his sleeves up to get them clear of any blood that may get onto them.

"Are you sure you can handle this?" she asked calculatingly. "Are you capable of seeing so much blood and not…not… passing out?" She continued to hold her hand over the bandage, compressing the leg wound.

Erestor smiled thinly, "I have been around wounds before, my good lady. I can see to him until you return." He watched as she removed her hand from the bandage and then he quickly placed his hand on the cloth. But he noticed that it trembled.

"Thank you so much, Lord Erestor," she thanked him with full gratitude. Standing up gracefully, she brushed her skirt off where her knees had been pressed against the earth as she knelt by the injured. Then, straightening her clothes, she gave him a friendly and relieved smile as she began to walk quickly away.

As soon as she left, Erestor heard the injured moan and he looked at the bleeding Elf with pity. Blood came on the Elf's lips and bubbled there. Erestor felt the colors drain from his own face as he watched the other's breathing become more labored. This Elf had separate injuries that were apparently more urgent than his leg wound. Taking his free hand, Erestor quickly undid the buttons on the Elf's sage tunic and saw that his chest was marred and bruised from where a stone must have come in contact with it.

"Lord E-E-Erestor…" he wheezed round his pain and arduous breathing.

Erestor grabbed the other's hand and said, "I am here. I am listening." The dark-haired counselor carefully held the Elf's hand close. He could tell that this Elf was drawing his dying breaths.

"D-D-Don't let…R-R-Rivendell f-f-f-f-a…fade."

"I am afraid that is not my choice, but I shall do what I can. Now relax," he soothed the dying immortal that was soon to meet Mandos. Yes, he would do what he could, but he was unable to do all that much. The only thing he could do was try and hold all the Elves together. And that was going to be task enough.

Suddenly the adviser heard the wounded being cough and gag on his own blood. Erestor released the leg wound and carefully slipped his arms beneath the other's head and upper body, hoping to ease his breathing. But the hurt Elf only wheezed more and he noticed that everything was growing dark.

The immortal struggled to speak but Erestor shook his head. "Save your strength. You don't have much," he commanded. The dying Elf began to grow cold and his eyes had trouble focusing on the face of the adviser of the Lord of Rivendell. Erestor shook him extremely gently, hoping to keep his eyes focused to try and prevent him from slipping away. "Pen-neth, stay calm."

Even though Erestor wasn't the one dying he felt a strong sense of detachment and sickness as he felt his charge sliding further into the realm of death. The wounded Elf trembled in his arms as he felt his blood growing chill with doom. He knew he was doomed and being immortal he had no experience with death. His eyes searched Erestor's with a look of pure terror and he trembled now from fear as much as cold.

For some reason Erestor felt a sense of calm melt over him as he held the fading being. Erestor watched as the other's face went even whiter and his eyes glazed over as death's tendril reached out to claim him and steal him away. Erestor watched as his mouth opened to speak and then suddenly he went completely still.

He was dead. An immortal had died. Erestor shivered as he felt the dead Elf's fëa exit the body and go to stay with Mandos for a time. Thoughtfully the counselor set the body down and closed the Elf's blind eyes then taking a cloth; he shrouded the lifeless face. Without trembling, Erestor picked up his paper and quill before standing up. "I am sorry, young one."

The snow began to fall again outdoors.

O0O0O0O

Legolas stopped as he felt strangely dizzy and he felt his eyes close of their own accord. He felt so weary that if he didn't have purpose or any vague reason to continue he might have fallen asleep where he stood and cared less whether he ever woke again. Blinking stupidly he pushed back a yawn and asked Aragorn in a whisper, "how are you holding up?"

"I could be better," grumbled the ranger as he caught up with the Elf and nearly stumbled in his weariness. Legolas could hear his heavy breathing. He wouldn't be at all surprised if the Elf had fallen asleep on his feet and was having delightful dreams about feasting and getting drunk. Aragorn was always told getting intoxicated was not good for you and then his brothers went ahead and got drunker than hobbits and Legolas usually followed. If it were a really 'lucky' night Glorfindel would get thoroughly drunk as well and start doing his own renditions of Lord Erestor. "Are you still awake?" Aragorn dared to venture.

He felt a light, quick and harmless smack on the back of his head and an insulted voice asked irritably, "does that answer your question, human?"

"In no uncertain terms." As Aragorn stood contemplating how Legolas had known where his head was in the dark he began to wonder if the Elf had slightly better vision than he was letting on. Still feeling curious he asked incredulously, "how did you know where my head was?"

Legolas grinned in the dark. "It must be my infinite wisdom." Smiling at his own jest, the Elf began to walk some more through the tunnel, which thus far had not presented any real trouble. Legolas knew the water was cold, he just couldn't feel how cold exactly. His legs had gone completely numb from it some hours ago. If hunks of ice in his boots did not surround his toes he would be pleasantly surprised.

"Did I just hear you correctly?" asked the ranger with a raised brow. "'Infinite wisdom'?"

"I didn't expect you to know what I was talking about, filthy human," Legolas continued with his merciless teasing. His smile broadened and a twinkle came into his eyes, though it was wasted on the heavy darkness that hung about them. His feet made quiet splashes as they entered and exited the water in the process of his slow walking. He stiffened as he heard the more noisy splashes coming from Aragorn's feet tramping through the small underground stream. Why he had to make so much racket the Elf would never understand.

"Very funny, you prissy Elf," retorted Aragorn. "If 'infinite wisdom' is anything akin to sanity you are lacking it miserably." He stopped as he heard his friend's footsteps come an abrupt halt. "Do you hear something?" The man asked with anxiety beginning to rise into his voice, wondering what to expect.

"Other than a loud-mouth ranger who won't shut up? No," replied the prince as he took another cautious step forward. He shivered as he felt like thousands of eyes were on him, watching his every move with a hidden malice. It could be little spiders….

"You think you are so smart, don't you?" Aragorn inquired as he trailed once more after his friend and nearly tripped flat on his face in exhaustion. "All you are is an obstinate idiot. Nothing more, nothing less." Aragorn suddenly felt his knees began to bend of their own will, as his body demanded a brief rest and reprieve.

Bats, Legolas decided darkly as he continued to feel the presence of some other creatures. This just figured…

Aragorn fell forward, his hand grabbing Legolas' arm. The prince jumped in surprise and gave a startled yelp before catching the man as he fell. He immediately was full of grave concern that he had pushed Aragorn much too hard after their escape from Dorrag's inhumane accommodations. "Estel, I am so sorry. I didn't think…"

Legolas slapped himself inwardly for being such an arrogant fool. He had taken Aragorn's unnatural strength for granted far too often but this time he really blew it. He could feel Aragorn's heart against his hand beating quickly and erratically as it struggled to pump blood through his weary system. Aragorn put his head against Legolas' chest for comfort as he rested, sagging against the prince. "You didn't mean to, stupid." Then he said reassuringly, "it's alight. I simply need rest, as do you."

Legolas shook his head and said, "I shouldn't have pushed you so hard when you are so weak." He couldn't believe he had actually done this to the person he cared for most. Aragorn was all he had left at the moment.

Aragorn laughed slightly and said, "no. I know you hate this darkness. It has been two days. You need to see some light, my friend." He felt Legolas shiver and pulled away, standing on his own wobbling legs. "Let's get a little further and then we can rest."

"And you called me the 'obstinate idiot'," Legolas felt a chuckle in his throat but it didn't reach past his lips and so his comment lost its spark and the darkness seemed to creep in closer. Aragorn laughed quietly and he pushed Legolas forward gently so he wouldn't upset any new injuries.

Legolas glared but walked forward a few paces. He suddenly stopped and asked the question that had been bothering him most. "Do you not feel as though there are millions of eyes on you?"

Aragorn snorted. "I feel like I do when I travel through the darker portions of Mirkwood."

"Strange, is it not?" the Elf stated calmly as he spun around in the dark. "I think they are bats. I never heard of giant spiders living in these parts." He felt a sudden spark of anger stab him and he growled, "Darcíl…this is his doing. He has sent us to our deaths in here!"

"Pardon me?" Aragorn asked as he stopped walking and cocked his head to the side. He was completely bewildered. He had taken it for granted they were where they were and never once thought to think of how they had gotten here. He just figured that Legolas' devious little mind had come up with a miraculous way of escape.

"It's a long story," Legolas warded the human's curiosity off as he stepped forward once more, trying to gather up his courage again.

"Seems we have enough time," Aragorn confronted his friend, whom he hard walking ahead again. Remaining where he was he gave Legolas two choices: to stay and tell him, or leave him behind.

Legolas knew this and hated his loyalty for it. He couldn't leave Aragorn behind and knew the human was too damn stubborn to come forward another inch until he had been told most of the story. But Legolas really didn't want him to know that he had nearly killed himself to save Aragorn's life. Aragorn didn't take kindly to hearing those sorts of things and he didn't feel like setting off the man's vicious temper. He also didn't want to tell Aragorn how close he had come to being killed. Sighing, as he knew there was nothing else for him to do the Elf said simply, "I struck a bargain with Darcíl and he helped us get free." It wasn't the entire truth, but he hoped to the Valar that it would be enough.

Aragorn glared in the dark. "You what? What did you promise to do or what didn't you do?" He narrowed his eyes and Legolas could have sworn he heard the grey orbs catch fire. If he was able to see through the night of the duct he was certain he would see molten silver in the man's eyes.

"You are nosey, do you know that?" Legolas said lightly, choosing to keep the rest a secret.

"And you are stubborn!" Aragorn retorted gloomily.

"So I have been told."

"I just want to know if you sold your life away like you always seem to be more than willing to do!" growled the ranger, still standing where he had been for the past two and a half minutes.

"Nosey!"

"Fine have it your way you mule-headed Wood-Elf!" snapped Aragorn as he took a step forward. He was now feeling rather irritated, tired and very, very grumpy. He was grateful that he didn't have his bow otherwise he might have seriously considered shooting Legolas in the foot. Chuckling insanely inside himself, Aragorn could just picture Legolas dancing around on one foot.A cruel idea, yes, but it appealed to him nonetheless.

Suddenly Aragorn realized something. It was deathly quiet and not even the water was sloshing or making so much as a quiet churning sound. Where was Legolas? Fear spiked up in his heart and he began to stumble forward frantically, hoping that he was not going to step on his friend's mutilated body.

His head felt strangely light, he realized slowly, not sure if it was his imagination. If he had been able to see he was certain everything would be swirling. Colors came before his eyes mingled with black spots that were pulsing from small to large and large to small. He felt his chest growing tight and in desperation he coughed, only to draw in more of something that was making him feel violently ill.

Aragorn gagged and stumbled on a few more paces until he felt his knees wobbling and his senses reeling. He smelled nothing that should be causing him this sort of high and floating feeling followed by the taste of vomit in his throat that was slowly rising. As all forms of clarity left this mind the man finally fell, tripping over something, but his hands caught on something else. A step. There was a step! Where were they then?

Wheezing he groped in the dark along the step and discovered someone else was lying collapsed on it as well. Aragorn instinctively jerked back and then he choked out in a panicked voice, "Legolas!" When he heard no reply coming from the body he reached his hands out and felt the face, it was stone cold but on his palm he felt the slight breeze of a sleeper's breath. But it was erratic and he knew Legolas was suffocating.

The colors danced wildly before his eyes and the dots turned yellow followed by bright flashes and a blinding headache that robbed him of the rest of his senses. All he knew as his mind slipped away and his breathing labored was that they had found steps of some sort, they appeared to be wooden. He also knew that the was with Legolas and with that he plunged into utter darkness where there was no feeling, no breathing, just the sound of his heart beating and soon that was gone as well.

O0O0O0O0O

Darcíl stared hard at Cortanyar as they jogged back up the steps, trying to decide what the other man was thinking. It wasn't that he truly wanted to know, but more because he felt he had to. Pushing aside Cortanyar he reached the top step first and fled into the throne room from there.

Dorrag gave them both curious looks. Unless the Elf had suddenly grown fangs and become a beast he saw no reason to run from the blonde being at all. Smiling in slight amusement and then frowning with irritant and scorn as he realized that something must have gone wrong, the man asked gruffly, "what are you both fleeing from like a couple of cowards?"

Darcíl slowed his pace and said, "my lord, they have escaped." He could hardly believe that he had just said those words so quickly. Dorrag would catch on for certain. Sarchel glared form the corner where he must have been taking counsel with the prince. His scowl of disapproval was evident and Darcíl gave him a glare that told him clearly to mind his place or suffer the consequences.

Dorrag's face turned red then white then red again as his wrath struggled to control itself. "Did I hear you correctly? I thought I just heard you say that the Elf and ranger have escaped? How is this possible?" he asked as his hands clenched at his side and his lips pressed into a thin white line of anger.

"If I knew I would tell you, my lord," answered Darcíl as calmly as he could. "The fact is they have left. We do not have the means to track them-"

"I shall be the judge of that, captain!" rebuked Dorrag as he began to pace across the lavishly decorated rug with a high amount of anger bubbling and seething. "How long do you think they have been gone?"

"I am not exactly sure. No more than a day, maybe two," Darcíl answered truthfully. He was surprised that they had not been asked to torture them these past days when the Elf was ready to break. He knew his lord was sick but he didn't think that he enjoyed torturing the Elf and ranger enough to let them reprieve and then go at them again just for the sake of prolonging their agony.

"A day or two? Why did we not know this until now?" fumed the Haradrim prince, now thoroughly angered, his dark eyes flashed venom as he glared Darcíl up and down like he was staring at the Steward of Gondor.

"You apparently wanted to give the prisoner s a rest," Darcíl unwisely second guessed his liege. "No one fed them and we didn't think a guard was necessary." He winced visibly as Dorrag got his face inches away from his and he could see red in the other's eye.

"You are an idiot, Captain. A blatant idiot!" he snapped. "I want the hounds out and I want the villages scoured. With their injuries they couldn't have gotten far. And when you find them, kill the ranger and I want that Elf's legs broken!" He began to pace again. "Neither of them will ever run again, I will make sure of that."

Cortanyar smiled coldly and quickly hid it when Dorrag turned his gaze upon the ex-healer. "And after he has told me everything I want to know and screamed as much as I want him to see if you cant extract his cursed vocal cords! That Elf is one of the mouthiest creatures I have ever had the misfortune of capturing!" The black-haired man's smile returned.

"That I will, my lord. It will be my pleasure," he purred as he thought of carving out that Elf's throat. He could fairly see the Elf squirming under his knife…

"It had better be as long as he is alive afterwards!" the Haradrim prince snarled as he stopped pacing. He turned to Cortanyar with a cold light in his eyes. "And to make sure the ranger is dead, bring me back his head and heart."

"Excellent, your Highness," purred the other as he cast a look Darcíl, who tried his best to look at ease with the situation.

"Find them by any means necessary, Captain Darcíl," Dorrag ordered gruffly. "Burn the villages if you have to. My people will learn to fear me!"

"Yes, your Majesty," Darcíl said rather appropriately and calmly. Inside he was feeling sick to his stomach and he clenched his hands to keep them from shaking in anger and disgust. Sarchel looked smugly at Darcíl and the captain let his glare deepen as his looked at the junior officer.

"Sarchel will accompany you." Dorrag glanced back at the grinning lieutenant. "Cortanyar," he addressed the ex-healer. "Someone shall take your place at the prison camps."

Moments later Cortanyar, Darcíl and Sarchel were all walking down one of the more lengthy and darker corridors of the palace to see about supplies and the hounds. Darcíl felt a great weight, as though he was carrying a heavy burden across his shoulders with no way possible to relieve it. And the frightening thing was that he felt the burden of anxiety growing greater by the minute.

He didn't feel he belonged here, but then again where else could his loyalties lie? After all, he was born and bred here in Harad. But Harad wasn't his problem. It was the men who were governing her that his quarrel was with. He really didn't feel comfortable at all with Cortanyar. He could handle Sarchel. Sarchel was below him in status and mind. But the ex-healer was his equal in status and he wasn't stupid either though Darcíl wasn't sure if he was sane. But that didn't really matter now, the point was that Darcíl had precious little power over the man and it made him nervous.

He had never considered himself to be power hungry but he couldn't deny that he was far more comfortable when he was in charge. He didn't have to explain everything to anyone and everyone and he didn't have to do something if he didn't feel it was the correct thing to do unless it came from Dorrag or an adviser of the prince. But since Dorrag had seen it fit to put all his advisers to death he really had no fear of them. But when he was Cortanyar he had to discuss things with him and they had to work together when they were of two different minds. Cortanyar would readily cause more pain to anyone contrary to orders or not and he would be sneaky about doing to if he had to.

That was another thing that didn't sit too well with Darcíl.

He simply could not trust this man! Not that the feeling was new and he had no idea how to deal with it. He had lived with this sort of thing nearly all his life. But this moment was so critical that he wished he had someone to confide in. But he was on his own, but that feeling wasn't new either so he really didn't know why he felt a sense of dread working its way into his system and making him feel like someone was ready to stab him in the back .

Cortanyar watched as Sarchel pressed eagerly ahead, seeming not to heed anyone or anything. He was like a horse with blinders on, decided Cortanyar as he fell back with Darcíl. "So what are your thoughts on capturing the Elf and ranger?" He asked quietly so Sarchel wouldn't hear. His dark eyes narrowed and he starred hard at Darcíl for moment before blinking.

Darcíl worked to shake off his feeling of suspicion and said with a nonchalant shrug, "I haven't really much of an idea. But Elves fear the dark, or so I am told, so therefore I do not think that he would be anywhere underground or in dim places. He hasn't seen the sun in so long he would probably go to it first thing." Darcíl winced as he thought all he had said was too much and sounded like he was purposefully leading them astray so as not to make the desired capture.

If Cortanyar noticed he did a good job of pretending not to. "I see. Well I can't wait to get my hands on that Firstborn. He sounds interesting."

The way the man talked about the Elf as though he was a specimen of science made Darcíl's stomach do a cartwheel or two. A man who enjoyed experimenting on others was sick, nearly as sick as Sarchel. Unfortunately they also had to possess an insane and unrealistic intelligence for their sort of mind. Cortanyar definitely had his own devote personality, Darcíl gave the ex-healer credit for originality. Nobody could say that the man was not "creative".

"Well," Darcíl forced himself to speak. "He is different."

"That he seems to be," answered Cortanyar thoughtfully. He stopped and placed a hand on Darcíl's arm, holding it tight until the other man stopped and looked him in the eye. "You are grieved or frustrated. Come, come! Why?" he demanded.

Darcíl pulled away roughly if not abruptly and said quickly, "well I have just let my lord down. These feelings should be expected."

"Oh get real!" Cortanyar sneered and spat on the floor in visible anger. "You really don't care about him! You care about something he is holding against you! You fear him! That's what it is!" He spoke in a lowered voice still. "As for myself, I think he is an insane ruler but he gets me where I want to be and so I am fine with him as long as he stays out of my way."

Darcíl looked puzzled as much as he tried not to. "You want the throne?" he asked before he could shut his mouth.

"No," Cortanyar stated quietly after some thought. "I don't want that much responsibility. I only want to get what I need and then I am gone. Do you honestly expect me to stay here under his rule?" Shaking his head he said, "unless I see some profit in it for me soon beyond getting that Elf and ranger for experiments and such I am gone."

Darcíl frowned and said, "why did you murder those men so long ago?" He knitted his brows and stared at the other in angered thought. Those men had been part of his unit long ago.

"They knew too much about me and I am a very secretive person. But don't worry, you don't know the half of what they did," he assured Darcíl in a whisper. "I think we could be allies."

Darcíl looked at Sarchel who was already far ahead and smiled falsely. "I think we could as well."

He couldn't stand this man and even the fact that he had shown him no hostility so far was not making him any harder to loathe. But Darcíl knew Cortanyar was trying to intimidate him into following him unconditionally. Fear was power indeed. But he did not fear this man, however he would play his game for as far as it would get him.

O0O0O0O0O

"As I have told you before now!" seethed Glorfindel as he pulled Asfaloth quickly to a stop and reined the frothing animal in, patting the sweat lathered neck reassuringly. "Those twin curses you call 'sons', never make travel easy. If there was a rabid warg somewhere, I can promise you without fearing that I lie, it would find us and someone would die only to be revived just in time for an onset by the orcs, which were coincidentally and rather inconveniently drawn to us as well!" The look of frustration and annoyance on the Gondolin Elf's face was comical, decided Elrond as he leaped nimbly down from his horse. He wanted to smile, but he couldn't quite remember what a smile was exactly…It had something to do with a strange feeling of mirth, which he hadn't felt very often nowadays. Maybe there was his problem, he mused as he straightened his cloak.

"Glorfindel I always thought you were the optimistic one…especially after being raised from the dead," reasoned Elrond as he gazed up at the golden-haired Elf, who snorted indignantly.

"Glorfindel? Optimistic?" asked Elladan's incredulous voice as he rode his horse along side the Balrog-Slayer's simply to annoy the older Elf. "I think Elladan and I need to-"

"Explain how things really-"

"Work around here."

"Exactly," finished Elrohir with a nod at his older brother to egg Elladan on. However, the younger of the identical brothers made sure that something was between himself and Glorfindel, that something mainly being Elladan, who was unwisely not moving.

Elrond shook his head as he looked around for his horse and Glorfindel split his baleful glare between Elrohir and Elladan. "You two are already getting on my last nerve, do you realize that?" he growled between grit teeth. "I daresay that either one of you would find it amusing if I went to Lorien with a broken arm-even a broken neck-and had to have the Lady Galadriel herself heal me!" His righteously angry look, with his narrowed blue eyes that seethed with irritation was enough to make Elrohir smile from behind the safety of Elladan.

Elladan shook his head and said with a frown, "why would we want that?"

Giving his brother a skeptic look, Elrohir said, "Elladan, do try to remember who we are holding this conversation with." He nodded at the scowling golden-haired Elf.

"That's why I am wisely keeping my mouth shut, Elrohir!" retorted Elladan as he cast a glower at his brother. "And if you are such an expert, why don't you put your energy where your mouth seems to be this night?" If it hadn't been dark, Elrohir might have seen that Elladan was a bit more serious than his voice let on. Missing Aragorn deeply, Elladan was not quite in the correct frame of mind to have a teasing match with his younger brother. He also found it incredibly annoying that Elrohir was in such a mood.

Glorfindel watched the exchange between the two brothers for a moment then totally ignored them. Turning to Elrond he looked down from his horse. "So where exactly is your faithful steed?"

Elrond glared up at his friend and completely out of character snapped, "if I knew would I be standing down here thus?"

Startled, Glorfindel quickly attributed Elrond's disposition's change to Estel's missing. Asfaloth snorted and Glorfindel stroked the creature's neck some more as he sat in quiet thought. He didn't know how he had gotten here to begin with. He remembered vaguely that he had been assigned a simple trip to Lorien, by himself. But an annoying little voice told him, you idiot! You invited trouble the minute you opened your mouth to the twins by that pond! Yes, he had invited trouble, perhaps he was addicted to trouble. That would explain a lot, he decided at length. Otherwise he probably wouldn't have attacked a Balrog…Normal people didn't do things like that as Erestor often pointed out.

Ah, Erestor. What was that poor excuse for a counselor doing now? Staying alive he hoped, because once he got back he intended to choke the life from that sneaky, miserable idiot! If this avalanche had been because of Vilya, then he shivered to think of Rivendell's conditions. Erestor could very easily be dead and he wouldn't know until he returned, Valar only knowing when that would be.

He was torn from his thoughts by a soft curse and he looked over to see Elrond waiting impatiently as his horse trotted up. It was covered in foam and shaking considerably. Smiling, Glorfindel pulled his horse along side his friend's as Elrond mounted. In the dark, Elrond glare seemed to be even deeper and actually sinister to some degree.

Elladan looked sidelong at Elrohir, changing glances with his brother. Glorfindel scowled once more at them both before turning to Lord Elrond. "Now perhaps you will sympathize with me more when I say I don't want to go anywhere with them."

"Not likely," Elrond muttered as he straightened in the saddle and gathered the reins. "How can I say you are not the one who gathers the trouble and they aren't simply the ones who manage to catch it?"

"Well that would be true, except when they are accompanied by Estel or Prince Legolas it gets a few degrees worse," Glorfindel defended his honor carefully. He smiled thinly at the Lord of Rivendell and said, "I think it is an inherited characteristic."

Elrond didn't say anything but spurred his horse forward into the dark.

**TBC...Ah, the return of evil cliffies! Life is good, very good. LOL Te-he. **

**Please review! You will? Thank you! **

**And thank you for all the wonderful reviews from chapter fourteen! We loved them all so much and they really make posting an enjoyable experience. Truly, you are all wonderful. **


	16. Masquerade

_**CHAPTER SIXTEEN**_

Masquerade 

Erestor walked all alone in the Healing Ward's storage room, peering into boxes and jotting things down quickly on a piece of parchment. He looked over the top of one box and discovered it to be brimming with Athelas or Kingsfoil. Writing that down quickly he turned around and saw others walking, gathering supplies, and boiling water for teas. He was not alone, he only felt that way.

His dark-hair was somewhat tussled and he actually had dark rings beneath his eyes from lack of sleep or even the slightest bit of peace. As of late he had totally avoiding even seeing his reflection in the water, knowing that he looked the part of a vagrant. Frowning, the immortal adviser looked out a nearby window and watched as the sun began to rise, red as it had set. A shiver raced down his spine without warning, causing him to work not to shudder suddenly.

Picking up a towel as he began to walk in the direction of Hellinyetillë who was helping another Elf-maiden with a gash on her arm. Handing the towel to Rivendell's chief healer, he asked in a near whisper, "how many are hurt total?" His expression looked so sorrowful and tired that it made the healer stop what she was doing.

Looking him in the eyes she said, "most are still never better." Taking the towel from him, the maiden pressed it to the injured Elf's arm gently.

Erestor shook his head and said quickly, "I must go. I have a lot to do." Turning, he left quickly. The Healing Ward was making his stomach sick with guilt.

Grabbing a cloak from a hook on the wall, the counselor covered himself with the warm material and started out for the area where the landslide had taken place.

It was some time later when the adviser to Elrond found himself walking amid the rubble and mud that had smashed into one side of Rivendell, decimating many Elven flets and homes. He wondered if anyone were still alive, buried beneath the mass of debris. That would truly be horrible. Shuddering, the dark-haired Elf walked further, examining the destruction and wondering how some place that he had always thought would be safe forever was now falling into nothingness.

The wind snapped his cloak around, twisting it about the scholar's lean body and nearly causing him to stumble. Coming to stand still at the top of a large boulder, the Elf let the snow fall about him, cold and wet, sticking to his hair that flowed out from beneath the corners of his sage hood. The wind picked up a notch in speed and flipped his hood back, letting the dark hair blow around.

Looking around at the destruction below his feet, Erestor felt detached, like this was unreal. Everything suddenly appeared to be happening so slowly and things appeared to be much colder, even have an icy touch to them. He shivered and let his grey eyes come to rest on the Misty Mountains that he knew now were coming back to claim the land Rivendell had been built on.

An old fear flared up once more as he feared that the orcs would discover Rivendell and sack her. They had done it once in Eregoin, his old home, he didn't want to relive that horror again. He didn't want to see Elves die and witness Elves fleeing for their lives in a place that was theirs. If Sauron discovered where they were the refuge was as good as annihilated. They did not have the resources to battle with the servant of Morgoth.

The ground beneath his feet rocked slightly and he looked curiously at it. That was not normal, the ground did not just rock and shift under one's feet. Vilya was up to something once more and he doubted she was trying to rebuild what she had destroyed. Elrond was losing complete control of her and soon Sauron would detect the through the ring's works. Shuddering to think of the eye of that unnamable terror, he blinked in near shock that he had dared to think of Rivendell being discovered.

Feeling the vibrations strengthen, Erestor scanned the ground below for a good place to jump. A tree branch crossing over a reasonably good sized crevice looked hopeful considering one could walk across it half drunk without very much difficulty so wide was it and he readied himself to leap upon it and walk across to the meager safety of the piled rock on the other side. Just as he found himself falling through the air readying himself to land on the broken limb another tremor struck, shifting the branch and knocking it out of the reach of Erestor's feet.

For a moment his body seemed to stop moving and everything held still as he registered the danger he was in and what was about to happen. The counselor looked at the gapping ground opening beneath his feet that went at least ten feet down and then the full realization of what was about to transpire dawned on him with vivid clarity. He was falling into a deep crevice, most likely where none would find him. Chances were he would break a bone or two, maybe even his neck, the adviser concluded grimly as he was feet away from the bottom. But that was a very morbid conclusion to come to, his more optimistic side spoke wisely against the more pessimistic and yet realistic voice in his head.

Muscles tightening, preparing for the intensity of the fall, the Elf winced as he struck the ground feet first and his knees bent to absorb the impact. As he looked up at the sky swirling overhead he cursed the fact that he had been this stupid. Of course he should have possessed the sense to know that the rubble would hardly be stable enough for exploration. This was something Glorfindel or Elladan and Elrohir would do, he decided gloomily as he inwardly slapped himself repeatedly. He was the sane one, wasn't he?

Obviously he had just flattered himself with that statement. He was _in_sane otherwise he would have never come here to do his brooding, which was unhealthy in and of itself. As he stared at a large and ominous boulder resting precariously over head he had the premonition that he might just become a side dish of Elf-jam with an extra large helping of destruction.

However his more optimistic side said calmly, 'someone will find you first! You are Elrond's head counselor and you will be greatly missed after dark!' In frustration with himself, Erestor shook his head and stood up shakily. He wasn't frightened…yet, but he was more than a bit disquieted and shaken by the entire experience and that included before he actually landed in the accursed chasm. He wished once again that Glorfindel were here, or even just Elladan and/or Elrohir.

Walking the perimeter of the hole, he scoured it for any hold he might find to pull himself out by or climb up by, but he could find nothing. The roots were sparse and when he did find one it was just out of his reach or far too thin for use. The last thing he wanted and definitely did _not_ need was another fall that might very well break a bone or twist his ankle.

Sitting down to try and calm his nerves after about ten minutes of pacing didn't do the job, the raven-haired Elf wondered what Glorfindel would be doing if he could see him now. He might help him out of the crevice, after laughing himself sick, Erestor added gloomily. He had never thought he could miss a menace such as that golden-haired idiot as much or more than he did now. As much as he hated to confess it Glorfindel was his friend and had always been there, even if he had turned purple from laughter before hand. Thinking of the mountains and the heavy snows that had been falling, Erestor pulled his cloak closer about himself for comfort more than anything else he wondered if Glorfindel, Elrond and those insane brothers were even still alive or if the pass had killed them. The fact that Vilya was becoming worse lead Erestor to believe that Elrond could in fact be dead and if that was the case it was only a matter of time before they all were lost.

Pulling his knees up to his chin, Erestor rested his head on them and sighed. Rescue seemed to be so far off and he doubted he would live that long anyway. One more tremor and that boulder was going to mash him flatter than a piece of Lembas bread that had been stuck at the bottom of Elladan or Elrohir's pack. To say he would be crumbs would probably not be an understatement.

"What help are you to Rivendell or anyone else you fool?" He asked himself bitterly. "You obviously let your depression that wasn't even logically based do this and now you are paying for it, you idiot, you are paying for it." His hands clenched as his anger and frustration turned on himself and began to curse him about as much as an oppressive orc might have if it had happened to get its paws on him. He hadn't been this incredibly stupid since he was far younger and even then that was not entirely his fault. Hellinyetillë certainly deserved better than himself and he wouldn't blame her at all if she came and laughed to his face.

Tears pricked beneath his eyes and he forced himself to dispel them. What good would crying do anyway? But he had always thought than if everything fell to pieces and crumbled at his feet that Glorfindel would be right beside him. But then again, he thought wryly, the only thing Glorfindel might miss is the free time he had when he _didn't_ have to file papers for over half the day. Glorfindel didn't hate paperwork, he despised it with an intense passion that was not to be matched by any one in Middle Earth or across the sea and thought those who enjoyed it were mad, hence why he and Erestor never truly saw eye to eye.

Erestor smiled grimly as his stomach growled, reminding him that he had yet to eat breakfast or anything for that matter. It was a sharp prompting to him as to what would happen if no one ever found him and he wasn't killed. Starvation was not something he had ever dreamed of dying by. Painful and horribly slow, he would much rather be smashed by a boulder. He had mostly thought that if he ever would die it would be because Glorfindel drove him to madness or because he died serving his lord. Obviously he didn't ever really think that he would die, being an Elf he would naturally live _forever_.

O0O0O0O0O0O0O

A breeze…a gentle breeze…fresh air…Legolas gently eased his eyes open and blinked as he realized with sigh that something bright was shinning in his face, blinding him. What was that stinging his eyes? He had heard once that it was called 'light' but he wasn't too sure. He winced as it entered his brain and made his head swim more than it was already. Everything was aching…especially his head and ribs but he had no recollection of why. Opening his eyes again he peered beyond the …light until he saw a woman's face with narrowed eyes glaring down at him. Startled, he tried to rise and realized he was far too weak and that his chest felt as though he could not get a breath of air in if his life depended on it, which it did.

"Do not move a muscle," the woman ground out between grit teeth. Legolas could not see her face; a handkerchief was about it. He didn't know why she made herself look so ridiculous, maybe it was part of their culture, he wasn't sure. But he didn't have much time to think about that before the woman gave him the most evil glare he had seen in a long time, well if you disregarded that bovine of a prince and the poor excuse for a Lieutenant, he amended quickly. "On your feet," she commanded.

Legolas gave her the most incredulous look possible before he felt the sharp points of something against the soft flesh beneath his chin. Well, he thought with dry amusement, she was completely serious. But he wondered if he indeed was captured again, what was going to become of him. He was certain Dorrag would not appreciate the wild goose chase he was absolutely certain they had led the Haradrim warriors on and he was also certain the 'reward' for it would be given in generous portions. What the 'reward' would be, that was the question…She snapped, "I don't want to kill you, so don't make me."

Legolas struggled to find his feet and found his body to be nearly too stiff and sore for the task. Suddenly he knew with a wrench of alarm that Strider was no where around. Panic rose in his throat as he wondered what had become of his friend. Aragorn had been right behind him. Ignoring the sharp points against his throat, the Elf spun on his heel and nearly lost his balance in his pain and weariness. "Strider!" he used his friend's hated nickname considering the fact that he knew not where they were or who was threatening them at the moment.

He suddenly saw shapes spinning in bright colors and his chest became tight. He collapsed to his knees again and looked up at the woman who he now noticed was holding a pitchfork. As if things could not get any stranger. He had passed out from some toxin or from weariness and was found on some steps that came out of nowhere only to be threatened with a _pitchfork_ of all things. If he had not been in such a dire situation he might have laughed out loud, but as he was in rather hot water the Elf only smiled dryly to himself. Could this situation get anymore amusing?

Placing the prongs of the pitchfork against the Elf's throat, the woman pressed them in until they nearly pierced the skin. Legolas winced, but resisted the urge to look down at the garden tool. He felt extremely dizzy and her voice drummed in his ears as she spoke, "what are _you_ doing in _my_ cellar?"

"Does your cellar connect to a tunnel?" asked Legolas breathlessly, as he felt just as he had before he fainted or passed out. He stared into her dark eyes that flickered with anger and a hidden fear. She rolled her eyes as she glared threatening at him.

"No, of course not!" she said bitterly and watched with mounting frustration as her prisoner actually dared to smile.

"Well apparently it does now." Legolas was still wondering if this was simply an effect of the obviously noxious and toxic gas that he and Aragorn had discovered. People didn't just go around using pitchforks as weapons unless you considered hobbits in the jumble of races. Of all the things he thought would kill him he had never dreamed it would be a woman with a _pitchfork_. If Elladan and Elrohir were here they would laugh themselves senseless. He looked down and saw Aragorn unmoving at the bottom of the step and his eyes widened in horror and a mounting dread flooded what was left of his intellect.

"Strider-"

"Not one more word you…_creature_." She motioned roughly to the door behind her and glanced quickly around. "If you want your friend to live I suggest you pick him up and follow me. I could careless about you at the moment." With the dark look in her eyes Legolas could very easily believe that. She jabbed the pitchfork into his flesh one more time before using it to gesture at Aragorn, "Well?"

"I can hardly walk myself!" protested Legolas as she waited impatiently for him to pick up his fallen friend. She was obviously insane! Of course the fact that she went around threatening people with pitchforks should have tipped him off to begin with…

She rolled her eyes and said, "The air is a poisonous fume down here! You inhaled it once but when it comes forth again you will find your side effects to be worse (providing that you live)! _Wipsomë_ is deadly so I am surprised you are even still breathing." She began up the stairs and then stopped and turned around to cast another cruel glare at the pair of friends as Legolas inched his way down the steps towards Aragorn's still form revealed in the flickering light of the torch. This explained why exactly she wore the handkerchief about her face, he made a mental note.

His own body trembled and he could barely move his muscles in timing with his brain's commands. Brushing some of Aragorn's hair aside he looked with despair at the pale face that looked whiter than death. Resisting the urge to collapse, the immortal did his best to gather Aragorn up into his arms. Anger was growing slowly but surely and he was certain he could feel it beginning to smolder in his eyes.

"Any day now would be nice," the maiden said from the top of the stairs with a sense of urgency masked by annoyance. Legolas cast a withering glare of his own as he felt his patience growing thin quicker than it had for a good while. He had possessed more patience with Sarchel than with this woman. That in itself was surprising enough to make Legolas chuckle dryly inside though he felt empty and engrossed in sadness.

'Well' he thought indignantly. 'I would go faster. I am sorry I was tortured within the exact few centimeters of my life and was poisoned! I should learn how to walk faster after loosing over a pint of blood!' Rolling his own eyes he made it up two steps with Aragorn before he collapsed to his knees for a humiliating _second_ time. They were simply refusing to go any farther.

"I can't go up these stairs bearing him!" he protested angrily as he looked up at her with burning eyes.

She answered coldly. "Life is harsh and short, so deal with it. I don't have to be helping you!" She reminded him.

_Helping me? So what is it like exactly to not be helped in this place?_ Haradrim were impossible not to mention completely insane. He hugged Aragorn close and decided even if he didn't feel like he could continue he would have to if for nothing more than Aragorn's sake and to show that bizarre woman that he was a bit more stubborn than she thought. He struggled up a few more steps and realized that this was impossible.

Through some sheer manage of will he reached the top step before he collapsed. His face hit the wood of the floor and he panted like a dog at her feet. His cheeks flushed in humiliation and anger that was finally deciding to present itself. The maiden was kind enough to drag them both in the rest of the way. But she rolled Legolas onto his back with her boot and placed the pitchfork prongs against his neck, forcing him to raise his chin before she kicked the door shut and dropped the bar across that locked it.

Legolas glared and then rolled his eyes in exasperation. "My friend is dying! You have to tend to him! Please! I will beg you if that is what you want!" He sighed and asked, "how is that you think I can hurt you that you are trying to kill me with a pitchfork?"

She eyed the Elf closely and pressed the garden tool closer into the prone prisoner's exposed neck. Her face flickered with cold amusement. "An Elf, a dirty little Elf." Her dark eyes crossed the lacerations on Legolas' front and the dried blood that still clung to some parts of his body that the water in the duct had not washed away. "You were tortured," it was a statement, not a question.

"What is it to you?" Legolas asked as he twisted his neck to try and avoid the sharp points that were biting in his flesh but not quite drawing any blood. "Do you always welcome those in need of aid with pitchforks at their throats?" he asked as he tried to squirm clear. This was more than a slightly uncomfortable position and it wasn't helping his opinion of her and her people anymore.

"That is none of your business, Elf," she said matter-of-factly. "What was it that you were so desperate to hide that they wiped the floor with you?" she asked curiously as she looked at the thinned frame of the blonde haired prisoner. "Who or what deserves your loyalty?"

"That is none of _your_ business," retorted Legolas. He jerked as she probed his throat more with the pitchfork. This was more than degrading and he was almost not able to see straight he was so angry and frustrated.

"Do not tire me, Elf. I have no time for these games," she warned. "You will tell me an honest answer or I will simply kill you and your friend. There are many places to hide a body or two..." She trailed off as her prisoner seemed to realize that his defiant disposition was getting him no where.

"I am not scared of you or death. However, if you must know I will tell you for time's sake. We were captured in battle. Your bovine of a prince and his insane excuses for goons tortured me for information and my friend as well. We were…we escaped and found this tunnel and found our way into your cellar. It was totally unintentional, considering it was _pitch_ dark," finished the prince angrily, not wanting to specify how exactly they escaped. Why she needed to know this he wasn't sure. There was nothing wrong with being cautious but really he was almost certain this was not necessary…

"I am satisfied now, for time's sake," she answered slowly and then stood a minute longer. It was comical to see a high and mighty Elf groveling on the floor and she smiled tensely. Looking at the ranger that lay with a white face and shallow breaths she as not sure what to make of him. Why an Elf and a ranger were tortured and dying here on her doorstep she had no idea and it disquieted her deeply.

"Then can you remove the pitchfork please?" Legolas asked crossly, working not to curse out loud. He wanted nothing more than to tell this woman exactly what he thought of her but that was probably not going to help matters at this given moment. He shifted to see her better and said thickly, "my friend is dying. That may not mean anything to you, but it means everything to me. Please. All I ask is to tend to him."

"One more thing," she asked in a tight voice. "Were you followed by anyone?"

"None," Legolas answered promptly. She didn't remove the pitchfork and Legolas reassured testily, "we escaped completely unnoticed for now."

"But you will be hunted?" she asked quickly, removing the pitchfork and allowing Legolas to breathe easier. Her eyes never left his prone figure and that of the ranger, as though they might suddenly try and murder her. The maiden's face remained grey with a fear and she licked her drying lips nervously.

"Obviously," the Elf asserted as he sat up groggily. He felt like he was going to faint once more and he forced himself to remain conscious. "Considering that poor justification for a human being never collected the information that he desired."

Not daring to stand, the prince simply shook his head to try and clear his senses. His dirty blonde hair fell around his bruised face and he winced as the potency of his headache dared to increase. His ribs and every part of him all began to scream at once, causing a considerable amount of agony to course through what seemed to be his very blood. He began to scoot near Aragorn and felt the man's forehead; it was icy to the touch. The man's temperature was dropping. "I am sorry for the interrogation, but do you realize the danger you have put myself and our entire village in?" she asked neurotically over her shoulder as she began to walk away down a long hall.

"It isn't like I _wanted_ to come here!" Legolas said mordantly under his breath as he watched her leave. Narrowing his eyes he felt his lips pull into a small and discreet frown. Turning his worried blue eyes back upon Aragorn he cursed himself angrily. _Elbereth, you idiot! If you had only never come with him you wouldn't be here now and he wouldn't have been tortured because of you! _Licking his dry lips, the Elf gathered Aragorn into his arms and tried to gather up the strength to stand up with the burden of his sick companion.

To his astonishment the next moment he looked down at Aragorn's face he found himself staring into a pair of familiar and incredulous grey eyes that were still slightly glazed over. The ill ranger smiled tensely, however, it was genuine. Legolas nearly jumped and then he shook his head. "I should kill you right here, right now."

"Why would you want to do that?" croaked the ranger wearily as he yawned. He obviously didn't seem to realize that they were out of the accursed tunnel yet. But after what he had been through that was to be expected…

"You gave me a scare human, a true scare," Legolas answered as he laughed lightly. "I thought it was a dead or dying ranger I held," Legolas added. He couldn't believe he had just _laughed_. His friend had nearly _died_ and he had _laughed_. If it was nervous reaction it was a pathetic and insane one. And even more irritating was that he found himself _grinning_ like an idiot or some deranged warg that was constantly smiling.

"Sorry, I had very little control over it," Aragorn apologized tiredly. "But I wonder if you were more scared of having to drag me back to father than the prospect I could be dead." Closing his eyes he let Legolas' arms serve as pillows and shut his eyes without even thinking about it.

Legolas frowned and decided that if Aragorn had not been injured as badly as he was he would have cuffed him on the head. "Did you ever consider that I actually worry for you, filthy human?" he asked tersely. A dangerous and offended sort of glimmer flashed in his eyes.

"I didn't mean anything, Legolas." Opening his eyes the ranger looked around and then sat up abruptly. "Elbereth! Where are we?" he asked quickly, pushing away form the Elf and trying to stand. These walls were like nothing he had seen before and looking above he found a thatched roof. "We made it!"

"Well I wouldn't exactly call being taken prisoner by an insane woman with a pitchfork 'making it' but we are alive," Legolas mused morbidly.

Aragorn looked at the Elf with a raised brow, clearly questioning Legolas' sanity. "An 'insane woman with a pitchfork'? Did you eat something strange?"

"I am an _Elf_, Estel. We don't go around eating anything and everything like a hobbit!" Legolas snorted softly and shook his head. "We were taken in by some crazy maiden with a pitchfork! I tell you the truth!" If he hadn't seen it happen with his own eyes he wouldn't have believed it either.

"I think whatever we inhaled in that tunnel has fuddled your brain or what is left of it anyway…" Aragorn trailed off as he swirled his grey eyes over to see a huge wolfish looking hound in the corner of the room, watching them, Legolas in particular. If he wasn't mistaken it had a sort of hungry look in his eyes. This was perfect…

"Estel," Legolas argued, apparently not noticing the dog. "How exactly did we get here if I am lying?" Seeing Aragorn's eyes staring off seemingly into space, Legolas followed them and instantly noticed the hound in the corner. "Blessed Manwë! What ever is _that_?"

"It appears to be a dog," Aragorn deducted with a cheeky grin.

"Typical," Legolas said around his dropping jaw, referring to the man's sarcastic demeanor. Looking down at the human he stated cynically, "I think you just might be right. Unless that lunatic Dorrag took the form of an animal."

"Must you insult my dog so, Elf?" asked the maiden as she came in holding old cloth torn into strips. The creature growled defensively at the sitting prince, who couldn't look more annoyed and abashed. The Haradrim woman scratched the animal behind the ears lovingly. Then directing her attention back to the pair of friends watching skeptically from the floor she asserted, "I would imagine you would want help with those wounds and some food as well." Looking pointedly at how Legolas and Aragorn's ribs were both a bit more evident, she quirked an eyebrow. "Now which one of you wants to go first?"

Legolas looked sidelong at Aragorn before asking softly in Elvish, "How do you ever think she guessed that?"

Aragorn smiled and said brazenly, "perhaps she has some of that infinite wisdom you had spoken of earlier." The indignant expression on Legolas' face was priceless.

"She threatened to kill me with a _pitchfork,_ ranger!" he hissed back adamantly in the Grey Tongue. Aragorn simply smiled vapidly and closed his eyes, falling asleep in the Elf's arms almost immediately. Legolas shook him gently to try and wake him but the man would not open his eyes and remained limp in Legolas' grip leaving the prince go get his wounds addressed first. "I kill you for this, human. For this I will kill you."

O0O0O0O0O0O0O

Strapping his scimitar at his side and slinging a short bow over his shoulder, Darcíl sighed as he counted the arrows in his decorated quiver before he slung that onto his back as well. Twenty arrows…a decent enough supply of them, he told himself without the slightest bit of emotion. He didn't intend to use no-one of them anyway. Frowning, he straightened his tunic out and then picked up his black cloak that was lying on the tabletop of his room in the gigantic palace of his lord, where he was graciously allowed to stay while on duty as part of his payment.

Once he was shrouded in his black cloak he could fairly imagine himself as looking like something completely wicked. Smiling indifferently, the captain picked up a small dagger and slid it quickly into the sheath on the inside of his boot along the inside portion of his ankle. It may serve him well later if Cortanyar's earlier crimes were any guide. He would not hesitate to kill that miserable brute if he were attacked first.

Walking down the lengthy corridor that lead to yet another which lead directly to Dorrag's throne room, Darcíl kept his pace decisively even and calm looking even though inside he felt anything but serene. 'Irritated' and 'uneasy' would be two excellent choices of words to describe his mood thanks to the constant fear that his deed of freeing the most valuable prisoners in Haradrim history would be found out and his family would pay the prince. So perhaps the adjective 'dwelling' would be accurate to say of him as well. All the words save one could even be placed in a single phrase: 'dwelling uneasily on the inevitable'. But that sounded a bit too dark for his comfort.

Turning into the main passage, the Haradrim Captain slowed his pace considerably, wondering what his entrance into the throne room would bring. He also was in no hurry to meet Cortanyar again. After all, he had this entire escapade to spend with the maniacal being and didn't think he wanted a minute over that. The man's face got on his nerves and his actions were even less calming.

Stopping fully before the huge brass doors, Darcíl fought an inner struggle not to open them and to turn around and flee. It was so strong he felt his legs tensing to comply with his wishes. But he knew then that if he ran his family would suffer from that as much as they would if he were found out. Placing a hand on the door he was about to open it when he opened all by itself!

On the other side Sarchel was coming out and he looked Darcíl respectfully but with a bit more ice and steel than before. Darcíl resisted the urge to shudder. He simply had never gotten fully used to having Sarchel around him being _Sarchel_. If he ever did end up getting used to the lunatic of a lieutenant then he would have to put into question his own sanity. Darcíl didn't know Cortanyar too well but he hoped with all sincerity that he would never have to get used him either.

Saluting before he walked past Darcíl, Sarchel gave his superior a dark glare. "That had better be a glare from your reflection on the situation we are in or I will see to it that your eyes are dismembered, _lieutenant_!" Darcíl warned sharply, not liking the look of the junior officer that was beneath him and had no right to glare at him thus.

Sarchel smiled tensely, "you shall see, _Captain_." He began to walk away without another word. More like _saunter_ away…

"_Lieutenant_! Don't turn your back on me!" commanded Darcíl as he shouted after the other officer.

"No, you shouldn't turn your back on me!" retorted Sarchel over his shoulder. His voice was eerily calm and he didn't seem to fear any reprimand from his superior officer. Darcíl felt anger and indignation spike up to add to his list of nebulous emotions.

"Let the fool go, Captain Darcíl," Dorrag's voice carried through the air. Darcíl looked over and saw his lord waiting for him to enter the throne room so they could begin whatever dark business they had to. The Haradrim Captain felt a strange tug of reluctance to go anywhere near his prince. "He will get what is coming to him soon enough, Darcíl," assured Dorrag contemptuously.

"Yes, your Majesty," Darcíl's immediate response came softly. He finally turned his full attention on Dorrag. "You wanted to see me before we left. I thought it wise that I should follow your request."

"Ah, indeed I did." Dorrag shook his head. "You cannot depart yet. The troupes I had ordered to come with you were…delayed. Therefore your search is also delayed."

"With all due respect, but that will greatly lessen the chances of recapturing those two…"

"Captain, it will, but not by much. With the extensive wounds they have sustained how do you expect them to travel far within one more day?" reasoned Dorrag as he walked over to sit on his golden throne. Tapping his fingers on the armrest of his right side, the man continued. "You will not depart until tomorrow."

"I do not agree with your decision, my lord. They have surprised us already, my heart forebodes it will be done again," Darcíl argued more to give the impression he wanted them captured than that he really did. But that the troupes should be delayed did not bode well. There was no apparent reason for them to be delayed, but he feared to ask too much of his lord. However he tried to push down his suspicions, he could not, and he suddenly found himself speaking. "For what cause are they delayed, my lord?"

"They had to take a small deviation for trivial reasons, but I am sure you will know more later," Dorrag assured testily. He frowned and said, "but this day is yours to do as you will. I would suggest making cure that you prepared to leave, but that is only a suggestion, captain."

Darcíl starred at his lord curiously but then bowed curtly. "Then I shall take my leave, my lord."

Sitting at his desk back in his quarters, Darcíl re-read the letter he had just written his wife and children. It made loneliness feel all the more prominent to know that he wouldn't be seeing them in person for quite some time. He missed them dearly and all her truly wanted was to be with them for the rest of his days.

Smiling as he thought of his home, Darcíl shook his head sadly. He was torn completely between the life he was leading and where he stood on everything.

A banging noise behind him made him reach for his sword and spin around out of well served instinct. He glared coldly as he saw Sarchel coming towards him with a drawn sword. An insane light was in other's dark glittering eyes. 'He finally has gone completely maniacal!' mused Darcíl as he held his sword in a fighting position before him. "What have you come for, Sarchel?" he asked suspiciously.

"Your life," snarled the lieutenant rabidly. He raised the sword and stabbed at Darcíl in a good attempt to run him through. Fortunately for the Haradrim captain, his own sword deflected the blow. "I warned you not to turn your back on me!" He struck out at his captain once more.

"I will have you executed for this, Sarchel!" threatened Darcíl angrily as he successfully parried the simple blow from his attacker. Frowning, he wondered what was happening. As if that day could not get any stranger and off schedule…

"Executions have to be approved by Prince Dorrag! Anyway, it is because of him I am here!" retorted Sarchel as he held his sword out to keep Darcíl from killing him at that moment. His eyes locked with his victim's. "You've outlived your purpose, captain! Or should I say _ex_-captain?"

"I will kill you, Sarchel! You know it. Now drop the sword," Darcíl tried to reason with the man, He didn't know why he was doing so, for he was certainly wasting his time. Anyway, he had wanted to kill this man for so long and now that he was able he was trying to save Sarchel's worthless life? He must being going insane.

"Do you know why the troupes are delayed, Darcíl?" taunted Sarchel unwisely as he sidestepped a blow and struck out for his captain's legs, trying to wound the other so he would have an easier task. Darcíl was proving to be a better fighter than he had thought.

Darcíl remained silent to Sarchel's annoying gibes that were probably groundless.

"They made a detour…to your family's village," Sarchel watched with relish as Darcíl's eyes widened in disbelief and shock. "That's right. Your family is going to be dead this time tomorrow!"

"You lie," Darcíl said as he lowered his sword in shock and felt a strong sense of apathy and anti-realism numb and blind his senses. This wasn't happening, not after all he had done to try and protect them. Looking at Sarchel he saw the blade of the lieutenant coming to stab him and he realized suddenly that he didn't care. His family was gone and there was nothing he could do so he might as well die with them.

Sarchel's sword suddenly flipped aside and cut into the flesh on his arm rather than running him through immediately. A look of displeasure came across the assassin's face as he said, "you won't even put up a decent fight? You know, your family isn't dead yet…" Honestly, Sarchel had looked forward to fighting his captain and winning.

"I would have thought you would have wanted your job to be safe and easy?" Darcíl said, without raising his sword. He wasn't sure why this coward didn't just kill him out right and it made him wonder whether he should actually fight this idiot. Maybe he still had a chance to save his family…

"No, it removes the fun from the entire process," Sarchel grinned icily. He struck out again, aiming his sword for Darcíl's side, leaning forward considerably in the process. But the Haradrim captain made up his mind to live at that very moment and sidestepped the weapon before using his own to strike at Sarchel's exposed side, driving his blade between the ribs swiftly despite the pain from his own arm wound. A fire was rekindled in his eyes and it burned with a vengeful and perfectly explainable fury.

He watched suddenly as Sarchel stumbled to the side and clutched at his wound before Darcíl yanked his sword free with a sickening _pop_. Fumbling backwards onto the balcony of Darcíl's room, the wounded junior officer leaned heavily upon the railing. He breathing was coming in shallow gasps as the full pain and devastation of the wound registered. Blood and vital fluids dripped on the ground. He glared at Darcíl with evil gathering into his eyes, giving him a nearly possessed look. "You won't kill me," he said as Darcíl took him by the throat, constricting it and boring him with his hard eyes.

"I think I will," Darcíl said bitterly as he placed his sword over the man's heart. "And I will make a puddle of your blood before I tread in it." He was about to stab when Sarchel knocked him aside in an unexpected motion, breaking free and having one last attempt to slay his captain that failed miserably. Darcíl watched in abashed amazement as the crazed Lieutenant cast himself over the edge of the railing, gliding to his death on the stony ground below. It as obvious that was not the intent of Sarchel by the way he stumbled and gave a curt and shriveled cry, but all the same, it was all over now.

He looked over the edge shakily and saw the distorted and disfigured form of his would-be assassin lying in the dirt. Blood ran form the man's mouth and nose, a sign of a fractured neck followed by internal bleeding and other various fractures sustained from the fall. Snorting softly in disdain, Darcíl muttered darkly, "you lived and fool and died a fool. And good riddance."

Taking Sarchel's sword that had slipped from his grip as he leapt the balcony due to the blood on his hands, Darcíl gripped the hilt. Taking careful aim, he suddenly threw it down, and watched with a surprisingly calming sense of gratification as it pierced through Sarchel's spine and blood seeped out from around it. A dark puddle began to form, leaking from under Sarchel's lifeless and pale face as rich life fluid drained from his mouth.

Now the chase was on of course. This deed would not go unnoticed before the day was over. If he wished to save his wife and children he had much ground to cover.

O0O0O0O0O0O

Glorfindel starred morosely at the flames that flickered in the small campfire that they had managed to build despite the disreputable weather that seemed to be following them everywhere, dogging every step they took with more troubles. His face was emotionless in thought and his blue eyes were half closed. The Elf's hood was down and his golden hair spilled about his shoulders.

Glaring darkly then at the three dark-haired Elves sitting across the fire from him, he then diverted his eyes back to the fire. Elrond was sitting with his cloak drawn tightly about himself and his face was hardly visible thanks to the hood that covered his features. On either side he was flanked by one of his identical sons. Elladan glared back across the fire at Glorfindel and asked teasingly, "we only just managed to get this fire lit. You wouldn't be cruel enough to put it out again with your icy stare of death, would you?"

Glorfindel was quiet for a moment and then he returned the glare identically. "I wouldn't dream of it," he muttered nebulously. Not in the mood for teasing or jesting, he simply picked up a stick and began to poke dully at the flames. When this didn't suffice to reduce his amount of boredom, the golden-haired Elf proceeded to catch the tip of the stick on fire by sticking it into the crux of the small flames. Once that was accomplished he swished it through the air drearily and watched as it turned into a smoldering orange ember at the tip before going deceptively black. Finally being unable to contain his worries no longer, the Balrog-Slayer moaned, "Elbereth, I think I should return home." He shook his head in a vain attempt to relieve his anxieties. His stomach seemed to be sinking past his knees and into his toes and he wouldn't be surprised if it eventually sank lower than that. To be completely frank, he wouldn't be surprised if it sank lower than that right then and there.

Elladan looked sidelong at Elrohir and the younger twin looked at Glorfindel with a small frown. Then looking across his father to Elladan, he said, "I think he misses Lord Erestor." A small and mischievous grin spread slowly across Elrohir's face as he looked at Elladan and saw his older brother shaking his head.

"My dear brother, I do believe you are right," Elladan said as he eyed Glorfindel carefully, waiting for the golden-haired warrior to attack him with purpose driven rage. He was more than a little disquieted when the Gondolin Elf did not leap up with his hands extending towards his throat to choke the life out of him. The fact that Elrond was there really didn't serve to change any of Glorfindel's less appealing behaviors. Glorfindel was and would always be pure and simple _Glorfindel_.

Elrond split a grim look between his sons that plainly read, 'there is no need to be infuriating Glorfindel at this time. Watch yourselves.' He knew that his look was more than entirely wasted but at least when he tried to explain to a livid Glorfindel that he had attempted to keep him from being mortally teased he would not be telling a false hood in any form. Really he thought Glorfindel would serve himself well to loosen up a little. But that was like the pot calling the kettle black.

Glorfindel cast a black look at all three Elves opposite himself and stood up whilst stretching. He frowned once more and then said, "since you all are in such a mood as to jest when I am completely serious I think the company of purely the stars would be better for me at the moment." Beginning to walk away he could just imagine Elladan and Elrohir sniggering like little Elflings behind his back. If he had turned around he might have known that he was mistaken.

Elladan sighed heavily and looked grimly at his boot toes before looking across Elrond to his brother. "Elrohir, I think we really might have messed up," he whispered sadly. He certainly hadn't been to offend Glorfindel. Well, actually, that was not entirely true…he just hadn't meant to offend him _that_ much.

"Indeed, brother, indeed." In truth Elrohir couldn't remember a time when he had felt so wretched and that included when he had first found out that Elladan had been blinded. No, he thought slowly. He wasn't only wretched; he was miserable (which sort of went along with wretched). He really had not known that Glorfindel was that worried though when the _Balrog-Slayer_ had started playing with _fire_ that should have tipped him off immediately.

Elrond sighed and said momentarily, "I suppose I had better go and talk with him unless we want him to be hardly the friendly traveling companion tomorrow." It was at least four minutes before anyone said anything and before anyone moved a muscle. Talking with Glorfindel when the golden-haired Elf was displeased about something was not pleasant to do under any circumstances and these circumstances were less than thrilling anyway...

Elrond walked quietly out into the dark, leaving behind his sons, who insisted on giving him a nervous glare as he left. Not forgetting their mother's fate they hadn't put it beyond their father to find the same sort of trouble. Moreover the fact that he was with Glorfindel of all people was not encouraging either. Then there was the genetics to consider…if what everyone said was true, then the apples didn't fall too far form the tree this time…well if they discounted Arwen.

Glorfindel drew a deep breath in through his nose, smelling the clean night air mingled with the rustic though delightful odor of wood-smoke. This felt slightly better but he still had a sinking suspicion that Erestor had managed to discover some sort of mischief. He was that naive.

"Lord Glorfindel?" came a voice he knew to belong to Lord Elrond. "Ah! I found you, my friend."

"Yes, you have, mellon nin. Why do I have the honor of your company?" asked the Balrog-Slayer, deciding to go ahead with the formalities since he wasn't really in the mood to talk with anyone.

Elrond was not of the same mind.

"You and I both know. Glorfindel, Erestor will be fine. At the worst he shall have Rivendell so labeled and reorganized that he shall hardly know it when we get back." Elrond crinkled his brow and said, "I do fear for my desk."

"Elrond, he may be an organizer but when it comes to trouble he lacks the experience…" Glorfindel trailed off as he remembered past events before amending, "or really the common sense to deal with it." Shaking his head he said, "he is an esteemed idiot. Nothing more, nothing less."

Elrond quirked an eyebrow, not very much amused and voiced, "For hating each other you both spend an awful amount of time fretting over one another…"

"Don't make me laugh," Glorfindel snorted as he let a single chuckle rush past his lips. That as about the craziest statement he had heard in this past age…the past few ages actually. He looked at Elrond with amused blue eyes until he realized Elrond was being completely serious.

"Erestor paces when you are away, Glorfindel," Elrond allowed to the golden-haired Elf who had narrowed his eyes in disbelief. "You may not believe it but when you come back Lord Erestor is slightly less over bearing and…tense…"

"Because he is busy driving me to distraction…" Glorfindel interrupted, not wanting to hear the opposite.

"Erestor can grieve for friends too, even though he seems to be emotionless at times…"

"Elrond, if we are going to talk about grief, let us talk of yours and not mine," Glorfindel made an attempt to change the attention off himself and to Elrond's own trouble. Elrond was why Rivendell was in decay. Well, not Elrond exactly but his overflowing emotion and that cursed and yet beloved ring on his finger. The ring, which Celebrimbor was willing to be tortured and put to death to protect, the ring, that created and held Imladris and the ring that would be the destroyer. _That_ ring!

"What of it?" Elrond said all too calmly. He watched Glorfindel nervously, fearing the conversation that would follow.

"You are allowing it to destroy you," stated the Balrog-Slayer flatly. "And don't you even start about how this is more than you can bear, we have both been through worse."

"Glorfindel, listen to me-" Elrond tried to talk with the nearly livid Elf before him but he didn't have a chance.

"No! You listen to me, O Elrond the Mighty!" snapped Glorfindel. "I am about as tired of seeing you with your shoulders slumped and your head hung as I am of winter after one month." He was about to be quiet and let Elrond speak when he remember Rivendell's condition. "And speaking of winter-"

"Glorfindel-" Elrond tried to break into his friend's tirade. Sighing when Glorfindel continued, Elrond leaned back on his heels and watched Glorfindel with dry amusement.

"Do you have any idea what that…that thing you possess is doing to Rivendell? To our home? Do you know what you are letting it do?" Glorfindel asked, beginning to pace. "I know you miss Estel, I miss him too but that fact remains that what has happened has happened. We can't change the past-"

Glorfindel blinked suddenly and looked at Elrond with wide eyes. His ears were ringing slightly. They weren't supposed to be doing that…Full reality struck him like an open hand across his faceand he glared indignantly at his dark-haired friend. Speaking of open hands across faces..."You hit me!" He accused darkly.

"I did indeed," Elrond confessed, not caring to deny it even if he could. "You were chattering on like an Elf-maiden. I know I have been depressed lately. But I really cannot help it. You must understand what you cannot. I can feel my heart…bleeding…I raised him as one of my own, Glorfindel." Elrond shook his head sorrowfully.

Glorfindel was still glaring darkly and his eyes were narrowed distinctly coupled with his knitted brows. "I cannot believe you actually-" he stopped speaking for a moment as Elrond's words registered…"you..w-what..I..but…you…I do understand!" he argued adamantly.

"Not truly. And so when I slump my shoulders and my head hangs low you must forgive me, it is because I am very tired," Elrond avowed wearily and his eyes blinked vapidly as he resisted the urge to yawn coincidentally. Interesting he should feel even more exhausted than he had in the whole trip thus far right at this moment as he spoke those words… "And I am sorry to have hit you, but I have to admit, it felt rather good."

"_Peredhil_, you are insane. But I love you as a brother, Elrond. And I suppose I can never fully understand. I am now not entirely sure that I should go to Lorien and leave you with those menaces you insist upon calling 'sons' though I would call them 'trouble spawn.'" Glorfindel placed a comforting hand on Elrond's shoulder and said, "come back and sit down so that you can rest."

Elrond smiled tiredly. "Glorfindel, you must go to Lorien. Meet us back in Mirkwood as soon as you are able. But go to Lorien first. I shall be fine. Rest assured."

Glorfindel crinkled his nose as they began their way back to the campfire, weaving through the bushes and brambles of the thicket they had chosen for a camping spot. "It is not entirely for you that I worry but more those who are in your charge, seen and unseen alike."

As they neared the campfire they could hear the voices of Elladan and Elrohir singing in the night air and playing a little game all at once. "Knowing our luck they sneaked a bottle or two..." Glorfindel muttered in a light jest under his breath, though it came out as sort of an emotionless dead comment.

"I spy with my little eye…" Elrohir's voice hung the clear air jovially. Obviously this intense darkness did not weigh too heavy upon their hearts. Glorfindel smiled tediously as he realized that Elladan and Elrohir both probably didn't realize that he and Lord Elrond were anywhere near earshot. Unless they wanted to sound like a pair of lunatics before their father. But then again they really didn't have much to hide since the overwhelming majority of Rivendell knew they were crazed to some degree.

**TBC...Te-he...pitchforks...hehehehehe...and there is sort of an evil clffy. And Elrond hit Glorfindel...:o) **

**Review? Please? yes? Thank you lots! **


	17. Out of the Frying Pan

_**CHAPTER SEVENTEEN**_

Out of the Frying Pan...

_We shall draw from the heart of suffering itself the means of inspiration and survival.  
**--Sir Winston Churchill**_

An entire night had passed, Erestor noted indifferently. He yawned and looked up as the sun began to shine in the sky. He had been in this cursed hole an entire day and an entire night without even so much as even hearing someone calling his name. Did they even realize he was missing/ He supposed they did but there was still an annoying, adamant, and nagging portion of his thought that told him that he could have been looked over for all the chaos Vilya was invoking.

Rubbing his temples wearily, the counselor shook his head, attempting to wake. He wasn't too frightened when he had stupidly managed to fall into this hidden pit. However now he was beginning to feel doubt gnawing at the crux of his hope. Doubt that he would ever be saved, doubt that Rivendell would last and doubt about a lot of other things. He also began to feel a twinge of fear. He had never once considered that he could be claustrophobic, but now he was beginning to think that possibility through.

It had snowed considerably that night and all about him, up to his knees as he sat with them tucked beneath his chin, was a blanket of white crystals. It was sort of insulating and kept him warmer than he would be without, but that wasn't saying very much. He shivered as he came to the realization that his fingers were stiff and more than slightly numb. Flexing them he began to realize with painful clarity just how _sore_ they were as well. It was not a pleasant combination and rued the fact he had not bothered to wear some sort of gloves when he went out for what was supposed to be a short walk.

But how did one predict falling haphazardly into a hole? The reasonable part of his mind asked drearily as though it had been through his a dozen times, which it had. Erestor thought it also sounded as though it was beginning to get a little annoyed with the fact that its message was apparently not getting through.

His body also felt stiff…and cold. His cloak was not doing its job of keeping him very warm any longer. He had never truly needed a heavy cloak. Rivendell was not ever supposed to get this horrible…and to think this was spring! He would certainly have a talk with Elrond when his friend returned. A major talk, he decided unquestionably. If it took tying his lord down and forcing him to hear everything he would do it…

But that would be if there were _anything_ left of Rivendell other than some snow covered boulders. He knew that the Elves were leaving and if he had been helpless to stop them before he absolutely was now. Helplessness was not a feeling he really enjoyed; neither was _cold,_ which he hadn't experienced in a long time, and frustration was not at the top of his 'fun-list' either.

Shivering as he moved and felt the cold snatch away his breath, Erestor sank back down. Besides being cold he knew that he was beginning to get a little weaker. Not much mind you, but enough to make him unnaturally tired. Sighing, the counselor allowed himself to pull his knees back up under his chin and to close his eyes as sleep began to steal over him once more.

O0O0O0O

The look of indignation on Legolas' face was priceless; Aragorn smiled inwardly as he watched the fair-haired prince glare at him from his cot on the floor. Firelight flickered from the small fireplace in the otherwise dark room where the two had been left completely alone. If Aragorn hadn't known better he would have thought that the woman was _frightened_ of them. If she was he knew exactly why and he had to admit that if she wasn't frightened a little she was more crazed than Legolas thought. Sniggering, he said happily for the first time since being brought to Harad, "My friend, I would say that you look better, but then I would have to disregard the green tint coming into to your face."

"I do not know _what_ it was that she forced down me, only that she did a good job of it," he moaned irritably. "She is _mad_, Estel. Completely and thoroughly _mad_!"

"So I have been told once or twice," Aragorn yawned as he raised himself up on an elbow to watch his friend glower and sulk. He felt so warm and comfortable that everything seemed unrealistic. However, he knew that they weren't out of the woods yet. No, they were getting a small but much appreciated reprieve. The ranger looked at the Elf as Legolas sighed and checked their boots, which were drying by the fire. Thankfully their leggings had dried on them and so they were considerably more comfortable to wear.

"Her 'dog' is mad too…" Legolas seethed as he lowered himself slowly onto his back, lying down stiffly back on the small cot that the woman had spread out for him on the floor. He winced and jerked as his bandaged cuts and other deep lacerations on his back smarted. His felt like it was expanding and shrinking with each pulse of pain that ran through it as a result of the bruises to his face and the large bruise he had obtained when the gas had caused him to faint. What was it the woman had called the vile and potent stuff? _Wipsomë_? Yes, that sounded vaguely like it…

"You aren't in a listening and reasonable mood, are you?" Aragorn asked as he looked over the bandage wound around his injured arm where he had been stabbed during one of his sessions with Sarchel. It did feel many times better than it had before, he had to admit. The woman wasn't all that insane as long as she knew how to treat wounds his well.

"What makes you think that, human?" asked the blonde Elf grumpily. He rolled his blue eyes over to fix Aragorn with an unamused glare before closing them again in weariness. His hands went up to the bandage on his head, feeling it beginning to slide free.

Aragorn gently swatted them away as he sat up and proceeded to fix the bandage himself. "There are signs, my friend. Like the fact that you seem to think everyone is insane-"

"Everyone _is_ insane," Legolas argued steadfastly. He grimaced as Aragorn finally got the bandage settled evenly once again on his sore head.

"Or you are simply one _very_ grumpy Elf," Aragorn tired to force Legolas to see the option that just maybe _he_ was the one who had the problem. It was a hopeless task, but amusing.

"Strider, I really didn't expect you to understand. You weren't fully awake," Legolas tried to reason as he lay there with his eyes closed, as his breathing became softer. "She threatened me with a _pitchfork_. Dorrag and his minions are out for our blood. Her 'dog' enjoys _your_ company. And there are probably other reasons that I can't think of at the moment." Legolas yawned wearily.

"Fine," Aragorn conceded for the moment, too bored and tried to want to continue this debate any further. "Everyone is insane, save you."

"I never said _that_," Legolas muttered in good humor. He cocked an eyebrow as he opened a single eye, his good eye, and glanced over at Aragorn with a small frown. "How long do you think it is before they realize we are missing?"

"I am not sure. Hopefully long enough for you to get in a better mood and for me to re-gather some of my strength." Aragorn sighed as he strongly suspected that they were already known to be missing and that steps were being taken to ensure their capture and deaths. "It is probably too much for to hope for if we were to wish they didn't come after us."

"Most likely," Legolas agreed with a thin smile. He tried to roll over but he was stopped by the protests of some of his wounds. Cursing them for near the hundredth time, the Elf hissed as he tried to recover back to his old position. "I _hate_ cots," he ground out.

"But they are convenient," Aragorn said optimistically. He smiled as his companion rolled his eyes dramatically and scowled.

"Indeed. As well as hard, _very_ uncomfortable, smelly…"

"Smelly?" Aragorn asked incredulously as he raised a brow of his own and looked at the devious twinkle coming into Legolas' one open eye. From past experience he had the sinking feeling he was either about to be insulted or teased. If they had been at home, walking and wholly well he would have expected some sort of prank that only a mischievous Wood-Elf could come up with.

"Well, no, just _yours_," amended the prince quickly, trying to keep the chuckle out of his voice so as to appear quite serious. It was a futile attempt that made him snort and wheeze as he upset his wounds in his efforts not to laugh uproariously.

Aragorn shook his head before he realized that might not be the best thing that he could do for it at the moment. Wincing inwardly so that Legolas wouldn't notice, the ranger lay back down and talked towards the ceiling. "Funny, Elf. Very funny."

"Well it would have been, but it didn't come out quite right," Legolas snorted softly. He closed his eye and smiled as he felt himself drifting asleep. As he was nearly asleep, he heard a soft rustling noise, quiet and nearly imperceptible. Opening both his eyes, the Elf sat up too quickly and seemed to feel his body shrink as it experienced a great deal of pain for a few seconds before suddenly coming back to its original size. Then, narrowing his blue orbs and knitting his brow, the prince scanned the shadowy room for the source of the noise. He made up his mind a long time ago that he wasn't particularly fond of surprises, especially if they were potentially deadly to himself or his friends. He also had learned at an early age that things going bump in the night were rarely _good_. So to say he was not the least bit curious as to whom or what their new visitor was would be a bald faced lie.

Feeling Legolas stir next to him, Aragorn sat up stiffly, blinking vapidly as he realized his friend was sitting up. "What?" he whispered tiredly taking note of how Legolas looked slightly alarmed and more than a little concerned.

"Something is in here with us," Legolas whispered back quietly and in far too calm a voice. His answer seemed to hang in the air. Not even looking at Aragorn he brought up a possibility that he still wasn't overly thrilled about. "Maybe it's that 'dog'." He doubted it and continued to look intensely at the shadows.

Aragorn yawned rather loudly, garnering a sharp glare from his blonde companion. "Could you be any louder?" hissed the Elf urgently and rather sardonically.

"Perhaps. Could you stop your antics and go back to sleep?" Aragorn retorted dryly. He cast a glower of his own at the Elf. "I think you are being paranoid."

"I am not," Legolas insisted indignantly as he tensed. "If I were being paranoid it would be something like this: 'Estel! Something breathed! I think something is in my blankets and is chewing on my toe!'" Legolas mocked and then turned away from his friend in annoyance. Why didn't Aragorn believe him? Stubborn, filthy, idiotic, blind, arrogant….

"Greenleaf," Aragorn said with amusement, breaking the silence and choosing judiciously to ignore the toe-chewing comment. Legolas turned his attention back to his friend. "Greenleaf, you have finally gone completely mad. You are jumping at shadows!" the ranger proclaimed bluntly, much to Legolas' utter besetment.

"Watch," the Elf cautioned. "Something is going to come out. Knowing our luck it shall be out for our blood and then we will both be killed slowly probably roasted alive over that little fire. You know as well as I do that concerning us, that is a perfectly reasonable prediction to make! So stop smirking, it isn't funny!" Easing his breathing, which seemed extremely heavy and loud to his own ears, Legolas continued with his immovable and most likely unnecessary vigil as Aragorn began to slip off into another sleep. _Yes, that's it. Sleep!_ He grumbled inwardly at the ranger's actions though they were completely understandable and explainable and he knew he really shouldn't be this irritable.

His own eyes began to close and his head began to nod. He tried to tell himself that he really should be more on his guard but he was so very tired and grateful to be seemingly out of harms way. It was a feeling he knew he shouldn't get used to until he got home and was in his own bed, but it simply could not be helped. It had been too long since he had an apt sleep.

There was something moving to his right, near the fire, he told himself spiritlessly. It was near his face, very near his face…what? Instantly the prince jolted away, jerking his head up all too fast so that he felt like the world was whirling all about him in some strange swirling shape. Holding still until it slowed and finally stopped all together; the Elf narrowed his eyes and stared hard at the creature before him. Glancing over at Aragorn for help, he noticed the man was submerged completely in sleep and from the loose look on is face it wouldn't be easy to wake him for a considerable amount of time. It just about figured he would be asleep at a time like this! Looking over at the being on his right, between himself and the fire, Legolas stared hard at the short silhouette. "What do you want?" he asked in a quiet hiss.

"Bunny is 'ungry!" the tiny voice demanded. It sounded like the voice of a little boy. Well, if an age must be considered, Legolas would guess five at the oldest. But he wasn't an expert with mortals so he wouldn't stake his life on his conjecture in most any case.

Snorting softly with a meager amount of embarrassment at being spooked by a mere child, the prince asked with a soft chuckle, "and who is 'Bunny'?" Legolas sat up straighter and stiffened as his wounds pained him once more. These lacerations and bruises were worse than inconvenient; they were down right obnoxious! He couldn't make a single move without it being dogged by some miniscule amount of grueling pain. But that had been exactly what Dorrag and his insane guards had wanted so he wasn't all that amazed.

The boy extended a tiny hand as he pointed to Legolas. "Bunny," he explained emphatically as though it made all the sense in the world.

Smiling tensely, Legolas crinkled his nose and snorted lightly. Why he was being called 'Bunny' was absolutely beyond him but it wasn't as horrible as it could be. Though he was hoping earnestly that Aragorn didn't wake to hear this or he might never live it down. "Alright," he allowed for the sake of friendship, not wanting this child to turn against him because of an argument. He also felt too drained to put up a decent debate over his name and the child would be better off not having a clue.

"Bunny is 'ungry!" the child persisted with a small glare of indignation that his 'pet' apparently wasn't listening and was being obstinate. He crossed his small pudgy arms and his eye glittered.

"No. Bunny is tired," Legolas made an endeavor at warding off the boy, who was being annoyingly persistent. But how persistent could a mere babe be? Certainly he would get bored eventually and leave; Legolas rationalized to himself for what meager comfort it provided.

Voices…arguing voices…Legolas' voice? Aragorn pushed them out of his mind as she struggled to stay in his sleep, which was very much appreciated and very pleasant. He heard laughter, or was it crying? No, it was laughter. Why? Who was laughing? Well obviously somebody and considering Legolas was the only one in the room that he knew of chances were it was the Elf. And if Legolas is laughing he can't be in agony. You already know he is demented so nothing knew there. So just stay asleep, you fool. Legolas can take care of himself; Aragorn did his best to ignore the maniacal laughter that erupted as a result of his last thought. But it was an uphill battle that was soon lost.

That was enough to wake him up. Fluttering his grey eyes open slowly, Aragorn wondered what mischief Legolas had managed to call down upon their, at the moment, defenseless heads. But no, he realized as his vision began to slowly draw itself into focus, a result of him narrowing his eyes and blinking repeatedly. Legolas was fine; he was even smiling -smiling deviously -but smiling. That was a slight improvement when he remembered the very grumpy Elf from earlier. How long ago was that? Oh, roughly an hour, he wasn't sure. Shaking his head inwardly rather than outwardly, remembering the last time he had literally shaken it, Aragorn watched with half-lidded eyes as he struggled to remain awake.

A little boy, no more than five was with Legolas, he noticed with an outward grin. At least Legolas hadn't taken to talking to himself as he had nearly supposed. Continuing to grin like a fool, Aragorn watched with amusement as the child handed the Elf a piece of crumbling bread. But when the child commanded Legolas to eat that was what nearly sent Aragorn into a series of relentless giggles. No one commanded Legolas, especially to eat when he didn't want to. This conclusion Aragorn could draw from many years of experience in that designated sector and what was more he knew that Lord Elrond would agree. Even at death's door Legolas could be stubborn enough to resist the intake of food if it were forced upon him.

"Bunny eat!" the boy scolded as he looked with Elf up and down with little angry and disapproving eyes. His small furrowed brows and crinkled nose reminded Aragorn sharply of a little snarling puppy, though he wasn't quite sure why…maybe it was the child's age.

Then he confronted and barely endured the strong want to chuckle hysterically. 'Bunny'? Legolas, the high and mighty Prince of the Wood-Elves, was being called 'Bunny'? He nearly asked his friend if he would enjoy a carrot to nibble on, but he didn't have a death wish…at least not yet. If ever Dorrag's minions captured them again he would make a point of asking Legolas if he would like a carrot and no regret that the Elf murdered him in cold blood. Of course if he and Legolas did manage to escape Elladan and Elrohir would have to hear about this and King Thranduil and _Ada_…

Taking the piece of bread Legolas stared morosely at it before looking at the child tiredly. "I am afraid that I am not hungry at the moment." Really he was famished but he didn't think he stomach could handle anything longer than a few minutes after it was introduced to his system. This bread didn't look very…appealing anyway he looked at. How long it had been in the child's pocket he really wasn't sure and didn't entirely want to know.

Aragorn finally snorted lightly and then placed a hand hastily over his mouth as Legolas glanced hurriedly over his shoulder at him at the sound of his stifled giggle. The glare was so dark Aragorn nearly was sent into another round of giggles and chuckles. However, it also served as an unpretentious reminder that he had better keep his mouth shut or suffer later.

"Bunny must eat. Bunny is h-hurt," explained the boy as though he was searching for the right words. Then he frowned and looked at the bread he had forced into the Elf's hands. Knitting his little forehead that was normally smooth without a care in the world he asked in a whisper, "do you not like bread?"

"No, I do enjoy it, on the occasion. But I am not hungry." Frowning as he spoke, the Elf wondered if there was a way to ditch this boy so he could rest. His body craved true food and deep repose. He was beginning to feel an acute sense of homesickness and his wounds begged to be allowed time to heal. "You might see if the dog I saw around here wants it," he offered the suggestion hopefully. He could barely disguise his voice as being friendly and not desperate.

"Gundol?" the boy snorted incredulously. "Gundol only eats meat. He is a hunter," the child beamed proudly. Pointing to himself with a pudgy finger he boasted, "I trained him!" Scrubbing his dark and short hair through with his fingers, the child frowned, seemingly with disquiet. "Are you a hunter?"

"You could say that," Legolas answered as honestly as possible. His stomach turned violently at the thought of being fed meat from these people. He could not say for sure where it came from and of what animal it came. The Elf scowled. "I need to rest. Go and train Gundol some more," the immortal yawned and as he did he looked over at Aragorn, who was smiling up at him. He didn't mean to be harshly blunt, but he must, by any means, get at least one decent sleep.

The child smiled and reaching down at Legolas' feet, he picked up the disregarded and piled blanket, shoving it against Legolas' chest. His dark hair slid into his eyes and he brushed it away with his stout little hand. "Bunny is sleepy."

"Very much so," mumbled Legolas darkly and completely under his breath. He stared at the blanket dumbly for moment. There was not a prayer that he was going to shut his eyes while this child was around here. He had patience, yes, but not _that_ much patience. He could barely stand Rothinzil's children and they were reasonably sane, disregarding their tendency to enjoy adventures.

"Sleep Bunny, naps are good for you," the little boy commented as he began to back-step out of the room cautiously, as though he feared Legolas would suddenly sprout a pair of decent sized fangs and leap at him. His eyes were large and it was then Legolas realized he had been giving a rather icy glare at everything and everybody for the past two minutes. At least now he could say with equitable accuracy that his glare worked on everybody. He actually felt the want to apologize nagging at his conscience but if this boy was leaving then he wasn't about to risk him staying only because he felt wanted in the room.

Once the child had back-stepped his way beyond the door and shut it tightly Legolas turned his icy glare fully upon Aragorn, heightening it's nearly lethal potency. The ranger laughed helplessly. "Bunny! Bunny! Bunny!" He coughed and then chuckled. "Naps are good for you Bun-"

Legolas clamped a hand over Aragorn's mouth as quickly as his reflexes allow before snarling a legitimate and somewhat intimidating threat. "Say it again, and only _one_ of us will be returning home."

"Well I didn't think it was so humiliating you would die of mortification, but then again you are strange…" Aragorn stated after Legolas released his strong hold on his mouth. He smiled as the offending phrase ran through his mind again, but didn't dare to say it. Rather he grinned like a fool and nearly laughed when he noted how Legolas' cheeks obtained a deep crimson color even observable by firelight and the Elf looked even more cheerless (if that were possible) than he possibly had a moment ago.

"Human," the prince ground out thickly. "I actually was referring to making a corpse of _you_ and returning home all by my lonesome." The blonde Elf shifted his weight and looked uneasy. A faint _stritch-scratch_ could be heard on the other side of the door and a soft whining followed by a minute amount of whimpering and vigorous pawing noises. By Manwë, that 'dog' was out for his blood! Or well, perhaps not, but it still had a tendency to give him an evil glare, which he didn't think were even possible for a canine until he had seen this furry beast. Clearing his throat, Legolas asked with obvious diffidence, "could you move your cot sideways, placing yourself between me and the door?"

Aragorn gave his friend a more than skeptical expression and a weak smile pulled at his lips. "Excuse me? For what reason? This isn't another 'I-have paranoia-issues' venture of yours, is it?" He shook his head as though thoroughly exhausted with Legolas' unnatural nervousness when he actually found it more than a bit ridiculously amusing.

"No, and I _don't_ have paranoia. That would be your brothers you are thinking of. Please do not confuse me with them," Legolas whined with mock hurt that did seem convincing to some degree. "I hope I am a little less reckless than that!" Legolas looked towards Aragorn hopefully, though it almost seemed to be more pleading than hoping…or perhaps a bit of both.

Aragorn began to roll his blankets up none-too neatly and pull them together to create on big, hectic bundle or bedding material. Glancing at Legolas as the Elf smiled, knowing he had gotten his way, Aragorn said, "you coward Elf. You just want me between you and the door so that if something happens to burst in with dripping fangs and perhaps an infection of rabies I can be the one with the honor to be devoured first."

Smiling innocently but disavowed by his words, the prince said calmly, "that is somewhere along my lines of intentions. But replace 'dripping fangs and perhaps an infection of rabies' with 'vengeful warg in disguise' or maybe even 'demon concealed in fur' and you've about summed everything up." The blonde being proceeded to pick up his blankets in no real orderly fashion.

Aragorn tossed his on the floor between Legolas and the door before saying. "You, a mighty warrior, are afraid of a _dog_?" The dark-haired human started to unwrap his blankets and spread them out again. He glanced at his friend from the corner of his eyes.

The Elf snorted and plopped his pillow dismally onto the ground before there was a soft sound of blankets hitting the wooden floor as well. "It is not a dog, I believe we have held this discussion before, it is a 'dog'. You must put it in quotes when you use that term to describe the …beast." Legolas finished reluctantly, not having any other way to describe his new mortal enemy. He smiled as Aragorn lay down contentedly between himself and the door holding back the 'dog'. Well, he thought optimistically, there was one advantage, Legolas isn't hogging the entire fire all for himself.

Looking with one half-lidded eye he asked sleepily, "is that better, _your Majesty_?"

Legolas quirked an eyebrow and rolled his eyes in brief and false indignation, "you make it sound so disreputable when you say it." He closed his blue orbs and let his head sink against the pillow delightfully, feeling at last a smidgen of a degree safer now that there was something between himself and the nameless fury beyond the wooden entrance.

"Well you don't exactly do honor to the words yourself, princling," Aragorn retorted. "After all, you are frightened by a 'dog'." The haggard ranger made sure to use quotations lest Legolas should start the entire tirade and lecture over. The human looked cautiously over at the Elf, who was smiling as he lay with his closed, instead of merging the surroundings with his sleep.

"That simply shows how little you truly know. Oh how you are deceived, young one," the Mirkwood prince teased his companion in a way he knew would absolutely irk the ranger. If Aragorn could tease him for his position and his 'paranoia', then he could certainly taunt him right back.

'I am not young anymore!" protested the ranger darkly as he propped himself up on his elbows somewhat shakily due to his stab wounds and other numerous abrasions. He glared threateningly at the blonde Elf smiling all too contentedly as he lay on his cot, looking back at Aragorn with a familiar and dangerous sparkle restoring his tired eyes. Emitting a quiet yawn and closing his eyes, Legolas clearly showed by his actions that he was to worn out to care about or participate in further debates. Not wanting to admit defeat, Aragorn declared himself the winner of the debate. Obviously Legolas simply couldn't challenge him.

The two friends were very nearly asleep when the wooden door banged open, causing Legolas to jump in surprise and alarm. But it was not the 'dog' that provoked his fresh fear and the sickening feeling sinking into the pit of his stomach, pulling him towards the center of the earth. Nor was it the words that the Haradrim maiden hurriedly hissed at the companions that caused the hair to stand on the back of his neck. "They will be here by sunset day after tomorrow."

It was when she took a cross bow and set the bolt aimed for Aragorn's throat before she drew the string back and gave the Elf an almost sad and yet still demanding look. Legolas was not surprised at all that this should happen to him. But what _did_ surprise him was that a maiden had him crippled thus and a maiden had him helpless and his friend ready to be sent beyond Death's Door. Where she had learned to use a crossbow Legolas couldn't rightly guess but he knew that she was not ignorant to its usefulness.

O0O0O0O

Darcíl slipped his knives all into their proper sheathes and hung his sword at his side. This was the most deplorable and surprising turn of events he had seen in a long time. He had always known this would eventually happen, but he had pushed it out of his mind, pretending this game wasn't real and that the pieces weren't relevant or threatened. But to his astonished clarification of reality they were relevant and now threatened. He had known it all along, but being able to truly admit it to himself was not something had been able to do until this very moment.

Slipping his cloak on his gaze looked grimly out the window and he saw the rain coming down in buckets again, portraying his mood rather accurately, he told himself sardonically. His eyes drifted from the sky to the stables, which he could see from his room. How he was going to get down there without being discovered was beyond him. It was definitely going to take a miracle or a bizarre and uncommon twist of unique luck. He didn't expect either. Sighing with despair but a grim determination stemming form the fact he had nothing left to try and everything to lose, the man quickly jogged out of the room.

The halls were deviously and ominously barren of people, he noticed as he ran down the long and decorated corridors. He then realized that chances were someone had discovered Sarchel's lifeless corpse. Maybe that was the distraction and miracle he had looked for, though why it chose to present itself in this fashion was strange indeed. But he clearly didn't have time to put these things into question.

Striding as quickly as his long legs would carry him without tripping flat on his face, the Haradrim captain made up his mind that for time's sake he was going to brave crossing the court yard to reach the stables. Hopefully they were all busy examining Sarchel's body, though in a way that left him with less time because it indicated he wasn't dead and that he was still very much a threat.

Slipping into the courtyard he resisted the urge to stop as he heard a voice call to him that he knew all too well. "Darcíl! Wait! Where ever are you going?" Cortanyar inquired as he ran cordially up to stride beside the other man. To Darcíl he seemed overly jovial coupled with a devious ring in his voice's tone that he had not sensed before.

"Desperate matters call me away," answered Darcíl curtly but politely enough that he might ward off suspicion to some degree. He had to get a horse and then people had better get out of his way. He was not beyond killing _anyone_ who dared to hinder him with one finger or word.

"Indeed," the ex-healer stopped and for the first time, Darcíl noticed as the man looked back that he was in full uniform. He was set to march, bit where to was a complete mystery. This troubled the Haradrim captain and only served to make him subconsciously quicken his already fast speed. "So you shall not come with us to the village of Astroggen?" he asked suspiciously eyeing the other.

"I fear not," Darcíl tried to keep his responses brief and uninformative.

"Dorrag will be most unpleased," Cortanyar said with a small frown. He then began to follow behind Darcíl, but he noted the man still went faster. With annoyance, he quickened his pace to match.

'Will he?' Darcíl asked himself. 'I think not. I think he will be _most_ pleased. In fact, I can't recall a time when he has been more pleased than he will be when he finds out I won't be going.' He didn't dare to say all this out loud. After all he wasn't suicidal or stupid. Instead he kept his mouth shut as he walked up to the first stall he saw bearing a tall and sturdy horse.

Cortanyar studied him curiously before stepping front of him to block him from exiting the stable. "You are fleeing." Darcíl was annoyed this was a statement, not a question. "I cannot allow that."

"I don't have time for this," growled Darcíl as he tossed a saddle onto the horse's back and cinched it up tightly before feeding a bit into its waiting mouth. Mounting the horse he glared darkly with a fierce determination. "Step aside or be overrun." He was not about to let his insane ex-healer prevent him from being near his family. Spurring the horse, he forced it quickly forward so that it had no time to think of who or what stood before it. It simply galloped out through he doors and luckily for Cortanyar he jerked aside at the last moment.

Darcíl had decided not use the back doors of the stables but ride through he palace, which would lead him to the needed road far quicker, which was exactly what he needed. Tuning the galloping horse sharply, he abruptly forced it to turn with a snort into the palace doors and to the astonishment of the guards he continued to ride down at the hall at a dead gallop. The creature's hooves pounded and clicked against the stone tiles rhythmically as he rode the chestnut horse as hard as he was able.

He was sure there were people screaming behind him, but he was not about to stop and for some odd reason his mind didn't even confirm there was anyone else around. He felt alone, and it was actually a good feeling this time. Yanking the reins without warning to his right he guided the horse around sharp bend in the corridor. No he could hear voices behind him inquiring as to his sanity and everything else.

Pulling left on the reins, he guided the animal out of the door and onto the street, where he called upon more speed from the horse by the liberal use of his heels in the beast's sides. Instantly the chestnut horse doubled its pace and rushed through the crowds like a red-ish blur; breathing heavily as it did so. He could feel it trying to please him and prove to be a worthy animal.

It wasn't long before he was beyond the meager groups of people that dared to be out of their houses and was nearing a check-post that you had to have leave to get in or out of the royal city from. Knowing full well that they would never allow him to pass, Darcíl whipped out his short sword in one hand and guided his horse's reins with the other. A grim expression on his feature's looked set in cold stone and his eyes were black like coals in his wrath.

As he had expected men stepped in his way to deny him passage. Pulling his sword back, he let the momentum of his rushing mount bring it forward again as he ran one man over who fell beneath his horse with a cry and quickly dismembered the head from the shoulder's of another who stupidly drew his own weapon as opposed to stepping aside after seeing his companion trampled. He nearly winced as he heard the death cries of the man who had been ran over by his horse and lay dying. But he was far too angry to feel very merciful and that was to be expected.

The animal, now fully free of crowds and other hindrances turned itself lose and if Dorrag were watching all he would see was Darcíl and the mount vanishing into the horizon leaving behind a trail in the mud. Patting the horse's neck as they rode he reassured the animal of his gratitude for its speed and endurance.

He glanced up with alarm as his could have sworn to the gods of the Elves that he smelled something akin to smoke. Looking far off on the horizon, he saw an orange light go up against the sky and he saw other's join it. Fear clenched his heart and he nearly stopped riding with the horse as his jaw dropped in complete and undiminished bewilderment and horror. A black cloud went up from where the red and orange light reflected and it was a thick and growing like a tumor. He watched as the orange reflection also grew brighter and the smell of smoke became stronger.

Even though he was riding the horse at break-neck speed everything seemed to be drenched in cold honey and he felt like he was getting nowhere. It was as though time had stopped and he was still moving, keeping time with the horse on the road. His family's village was burning.

He was not surprised that the fire should light in the rain, at least not if the soldiers had any kind of oil. It would burn for a long time and suddenly, as though he was released from a spell, the Haradrim captain felt the horse moving and the ground thundering under its hooves, pulsing up through its body. He became aware of the mud flinging itself up onto his face and now adorning his clothes and the saddle plus the blanket. He became conscious also of the wet rain soaking him, spilling and running off of his cloak in tiny rivers.

Dorrag would pay for this dearly. Darcíl would see him lying in the mire of his own blood, drowning. He didn't care very much of that was the last thing he ever saw or did. He would die with a sense of satisfaction knowing that insane and utterly sick man was beyond the circles of the world.

Suddenly, his horse buckled and with a strong feeling of detachment he realized he was flailing over its head in a flying mass of arms and legs and onto the ground. He hit it with his hands first, bracing himself before he tumbled to the side and lay there in the mud of the road, pain scoring his body in many different places. His eyes fell upon the horse than lay on the ground, pawing at the mud and muck as its eyes widened in its terror, searching for a way out. A frothing sweat covered its body like white foam and its sides heaved in agony.

It had literally been neck-breaking speed at which Darcíl had forced the poor horse to run and it could take no more. The Haradrim officer heard a rattle in the animal's chest before it lay its head down in the road and the now filmy eyes closed forever. Closing his own eyes against the pain on the left side where he had hit the ground the hardest and he knew that a few ribs had to be broken…two at least. He had never truly experienced broken ribs before and made a mental note not to ever do it again.

Stubbornly he tried to rise and yet he doubled over, nearly falling to his knees again. But he forced himself to run through the slippery mud and towards the burning mass of a village that had once been his home. Without the horse this was hopeless and he more than knew it.

O0O0O0O

Dorrag glanced angrily over the edge of the balcony, barely able to hold his temper in check. Cortanyar stood beside him, watching impassively as his lord turned one interesting shade of red to another. His brows were knitted in silent thought as Dorrag hissed quietly, "he cannot be allowed to live. I must have him dead. But first thing is first, Cortanyar, bring me that Elf, at whatever costs. Don't spare the ranger." He frowned as he looked grimly at the dark stones stained with Sarchel's blood below the balcony's edge. "I believe them to be hiding in Astroggen. It is not far and in their condition it would seem very logical."

"I understand, my lord. The village must be occupied," he answered apathetically to his liege.

"It must be occupied and scoured. Level it if you have to. They have been nothing but rabble-rousers and key to any resistance anyway. It is well they get what they deserve." He narrowed his eyes in frustration and his fingers drummed on the rail in agitation with no distinct rhythm. His eyes fell on the body of Sarchel. Arrogant fool. He was no great loss and in fact, to Dorrag's way of thinking it was 'good riddance'. The man had been completely stupid from the beginning and he hadn't managed to even torture anything from a helpless Elf. Turning to Cortanyar he said unemotionally with a wave of his hand, "dispose of the body."

Cortanyar stood there for a moment and seemed to be rooted to the spot. He then said thoughtfully, "actually, I think I might rather want to keep it, your Majesty."

Dorrag gave the man a disgusted and loathing look before he snarled in repugnance, "then do it, do it! But I don't want to hear one more word about it, do you understand?" He rubbed his temples with his fingers to try and keep a pounding headache at bay. It was not his fault all his officers were psychotic, he reminded himself. One couldn't even pull off what should have been a simple assassination attempt and the other _wanted_ the body of the failed officer. And on top of that his head commander was a traitor and unreliable to boot!

"Yes, my lord. Thank you, My lord," was all Cortanyar said. Glancing down at the body below he gave a sickly and tense smile. He wasn't sure what he would use it for, but he would find a purpose for it. It was a rather nice gift, he thought with an inward grin of joyousness.

"Whatever," Dorrag dismissed Cortanyar's courteous thank-you quickly as he was able. He didn't want his name mixed with this man's if he could help it. He scowled at his officer. "Since Darcíl is now gone, I place you in his position. When you go to that town let them know that treason doesn't pay. If that have that Elf and Ranger or refuse to help I want it razed to the ground! And I don't care about the means, but get that Elf and _kill_ that ranger."

"Indeed, my lord," the ex-healer and new commander gave a slight bow out of politeness. His grin could now be seen as he realized he had just been given a free card to create a living Hell that he would govern directly under Dorrag's nose. He would have to be careful, but in the end the people would fear him more than they did Dorrag and in the end, they would rally behind him out of a terror to do anything else. He would have Dorrag's head on a pike, he told himself happily.

"You are off to a good start. And when you capture the Elf, I have changed my mind. Do not break his legs. He will need to walk the scaffolding once we have him. Name or not his execution is scheduled for three days at noon, when _everyone_ can see his head roll from the platform." Dorrag captured Cortanyar's gaze and held it with an intensifying glare.

"We are going to behead him?" Cortanyar asked incredulously and with surprise.

"We haven't had a decent beheading in years. The people want to see blood, and once his head rolls, we know he won't be coming back," replied the Haradrim prince matter-of-factly. "I want him to die in front of everyone. I will have to hope that it gets back to the Elves somehow."

"We can send the head back to the nearest Elven kingdom," suggested Cortanyar maliciously. The thought of decapitation pleased him greatly and he could feel himself quivering with excitement. A great amount of joy was mounting in his heart and he was working his hardest to withhold a bright smile that was pulling strongly at his lips' corners.

"What is the name of the Elven land that dwells alongside Dol Guldur? We are going to be going that direction already…" Dorrag didn't even notice as the ex-healer interrupted him abruptly.

"Mirkwood?" Cortanyar asked skeptically.

'Mirkwood', that was the name. 'Well I will have to give them a little surprise,' he sniggered sinisterly inside. "I believe that is the name, Captain." He frowned, "you may set out for Astroggen as soon as you are ready." He added, "and get that body out of here!"

**TBC...Oh-ho! Aragorn is being held hostage and ohhhh...goodness...Legolas is in dire danger of being beheaded! Te-he...Why are we so happy... :o) LOL Maybe it is because this is what is commonly known as a 'cliffy'. **


	18. Into the Fire

_**CHAPTER EIGHTEEN **_

Into the Fire 

Erestor glared darkly at the snow surrounding him and still falling ominously from the sky. He wondered grimly where Glorfindel, Elrond, and the twins were. Most likely they were at least a third of the way to Mirkwood and Lorien by now. However, he wondered what Elrond's condition had done to slow them. He had now been in this hapless hole a grand total of three days. He was sure thathe was at least one size smaller in his clothes' size by now and he could feel them hanging much looser from his slightly withered frame.

His life could actually be qualified as being 'miserable', he decided, now looking up, out of the cursed hole, but he saw none above him. Standing up, the counselor decided that enough was enough and he was going to attempt a drastic escape from his prison. Such an escape attempt as Estel or even Legolas might conjure up, which was a startling thought that was altogetherdiscouraging.

His legs were irritatingly shaky and he flexed his muscles to try and stabilize them. Locking his knees, he stretched and sighed with annoyance and hopelessness when his body still shook like a leaf. Deciding that his legs weren't going to stop their quivering any time soon, he went ahead and began to pace around the abominable gap in the ground. He felt his spirits rise slightly as he began to walk. Why pacing lightened his heart he wasn't sure. Maybe it was the fact that he got his blood moving or his adrenaline alive and moving through his blood stream. He still didn't know and he really didn't care. All he knew and cared abot was that it worked.

Looking dryly up at the rim of the horrible pit, everything swirled in odd shapes and he felt dizzy. He had not tasted a drop of water for all of those three days. Now he looked down at his feet and realized that it was possible to eat the snow. Snow was no more than water, crystalized water. But itwas just so undignified a thing to do and not something that normally one even considered doing that he had not thought of it until now. Licking his dried and cracked lips, the raven-haired Elf found himself stooping over to pick up a handful of the pure snow. Perhaps this cold weather was a blessing in disguise, because if the precipitation had not frozen, then he would have not had a clean source of water. Driven by his thirst, the reluctant Elf took a small and careful nibble from the frozen crystals.

It tasted fine to 'eat' and he found himself 'eating' it rather quickly. He smiled as he though of how strange he must seem, chewing and swallowing snow. He hadn't done this since he was an Elfling, indeed, not since he had been bullied and forced to eat snow by other Elflings. Shaking his head, Erestor found himself, once again, grateful that Glorfindel was not around to see him now. The Gondolin Elf would probably die laughing watching the snow disappear into his mouth. Ah, in all truth, Erestor had never considered snow to be a delicacy until this moment. Licking his lips as his mouth felt freshly moistened, the Elf finally managed to stop himself from filling his stomach completely up on snow and making himself sick.

Wiping his mouth with the back of his sleeve, the counselor stared up again longingly at the edge of the pit once more. It was roughly six to seven feet up to the top and normally that might not be extremely difficult to get up and out of for any Elf. It mighteven be considered entertaining.But this time that was not possible. The snow and rain had made the walls slippery and more than unfeasible to scale them.

Then his scrupulous eyes noticed something sticking out of the wet earth. A simple root twisted and forced its way out of the soil. Smiling grimly, Erestor walked over so that his toes were against the wall. Then, standing on their tips, he leaned his chest into the wall and stretched a hand upward to attempt and grasp the root so it would serve as a handle. His position slipped and he missed the underground plant growth by a few inches, his smile turning into a small frown of frustration. Regaining his position, the adviser stretched upwards again and managed to get a meager hold as he wrapped his fingers tightly about the root, so his knuckles turned white.

He knew now that he didn't want to stay down here a minute longer and he put all his strength into dragging himself a little ways up the wall. Using his boot toes, he stabbed them into the muddy surface, trying to create miniature steps with his feet. He didn't want to die here, alone and unknown. He actually felt his hands going clammy with fear. And they began to slip from their intense grip.

Suddenly Erestor lost his footing, discovering a weak spot too late to spare himself a four-foot fall. His feet sipped right out form beneath him and he couldn't hang completely onto the insubstantial and scant roots and mud. Losing all of his meager grips, the counselor landed hard on the ground, his right foot twisting sharply beneath him, causing him to give a small cry. Hissing in an attempt at silent pain and fearing to look at his ankle, which was painfully wrenched beneath him, the adviser to Elrond finally grit his teeth and pulled the injured limb from under himself.

Pain shot up his leg and he closed his eyes, allowing it to run its course and patiently waiting for it to stop pulsing through his body. Hoping to have merely twisted his ankle, Erestor began to try and slip of his boot to do an examination such as he was able to do, but found that it had already swelled far too much and the boot would have to be cut off. Rolling his eyes dramatically, he wondered if he was cursed just the same as the twins, Legolas or Aragorn.

Suddenly he stopped and heard a small jingle, like tinkling bells akin to the ones Glorfindel often placed on his horse's gear. Listening and sitting tall to better his already sharp hearing, he cocked his head to the side and nodded calmly in realization. Elves were nearby. "Help!" he called desperately out for their aid, knowing they should be able to hear them. "Please, help me!"

He heard the bells stop and he also heard voices, soft and musical, like his own in normal circumstances. These indeed were Elves and anyway, whom else was there to expect in Rivendell? He shook his head before he called again, "please, help me! I am trapped!"

"I do believe that is Lord Erestor," said one of them in an alarmed tone. There was a small jingle, barely audible as the horse shifted.

"How is it that he is alive? Was he not crushed?" asked another from above in an incredulous tone.

Erestor sighed in annoyance. At last they had missed him but the fact that he had been given up for as dead disturbed him greatly. He frowned and listened to their conversation a little further, just to get an idea of what was going on.

"They say so, I do not believe it," argued the other with a snort of disbelieving laughter. "Lord Erestor may be many things but he isn't stupid enough get himself crushed."

Rolling his eyes, Erestor called out again. "Help me! I _am_ Lord Erestor. I am trapped!" He couldn't believe he was saying this. It felt oddly like he was talking to himself. There was also the slight doubt that these were _real_ Elves. For all he knew he could be desperate enough for rescue to be imagining them. Annoyance and indignity flared up inside as well. What ever they had meant by _many things_ he was not entirely sure he wanted to know but he certainly felt obligated.

The Elves above looked at each other in shock and rode to the pit, peering over the edge of the pit. Erestor looked up at them from where he sat in disgust with himself. "My lord, how ever did you manage to get into this disreputable grotto?"

Sighing in aggravation and pushing down a stubborn stab of irritation, the counselor smiled tensely. "An earth shake. I leaped and the log suddenly wasn't there." His explanation was brief but everything that happened was on a need-to-know basis. He placed a hand subconsciously on his ankle.

"Is something wrong, my lord?" asked one of the young Elves with concern. He then flushed as Erestor gave him a long-suffering expression. "Other than being trapped in a hole for a few days," amended the warrior hastily.

"Actually yes," Erestor's response was quick and precise. "I appear to have twisted my ankle."

The young warriors looked at one another skeptically and then down at Erestor who was glaring up at them like a disgruntled owl except for the fact that owls didn't frown. So in that regard he actually looked more like a frustrated bass swimming angrily through the water. They caught themselves smiling at the older Elf's comical expression and quickly stowed their amusement before asking simultaneously, "how can we help to get you out?"

Erestor frowned and looked around, wondering exactly how to answer their question. How could they help him out? He found that he really didn't have the answer. "I don't really have the luxury of knowing, young ones." He hated giving this answer, but what other choice did he have?

The younger immortals exchanged glances once more. The fact that Erestor didn't even know had them rather puzzled themselves. One of them, the lighter haired one on the left, gave a small frown before saying, "I cold ride back and get a rope." He gestured at his companion with his head; "Mablung may stay here with you."

Erestor nodded in understanding. "A good plan, young one." The other Elf smiled as he turned his horse to return to the main center of Rivendell that was still miraculously in one piece, relatively speaking. Looking up at the remaining of the two companions, the counselor asked dryly, "how was it that you were out this way?"

The younger Elf frowned and then said momentarily. "Well, my lord, we were leaving." He looked very nearly ashamed and hung his head hopelessly as he felt Erestor's meticulous glare darken and fall upon him with an anger. "Things are falling to pieces, my lord. Vil- …the…thing…is destroying Rivendell as we know it." He looked slightly confused and more than a little torn.

Erestor scowled, "but if you leave who will help to put it back together? Surely some of you are staying." His meticulous glare turned into a grim and concerned expression of the gravest measures. Well this young and foolish Elf hadn't mentioned Vilya aloud for anyone to hear, which was a bonus.

"Everyone is preparing for the Havens, my Lord Erestor," answered the other slowly, not wanting to be the bearer of bad news. From the look Erestor was presenting him with he seriously hoped the counselor had heard the saying, 'don't shoot the messenger' at least once in his life. "It is miserable here."

"I would have thought at least half would stay behind," Erestor muttered darkly and rather pessimistically.

"They would but they fear…that…unmentionable…thing," he finished lamely. "They fear she may kill them all. They say Rivendell is going to shambles." His eyes watched his superior carefully, wondering as to the counselor's mood now. He felt crestfallen to come to the understanding that Erestor wasn't angry but heart broken. And if you looked at it from the counselor's point of view it was more than a deplorable plight.

"Rivendell," Erestor ground out thickly. "Will be fine. However at the moment we do not have the luxury of aiding her in recovery. That is in the hands of Lord Elrond and what ever happens next."

"The hands of fate?" the other asked cautiously.

"Call it whatever you like, it won't change anything." He looked up at the younger warrior and said, "but the hands of fate is as good a description as any, providing that the Valar won't interfere." Erestor glared glumly at his sore and twisted ankle that was throbbing rhythmically. He felt horrible and unnaturally stupid. He should have never come out here to brood.

'Have you ever figured at looking at the glass as half full?" asked the warrior with a bit of irritation drifting into his tone.

"I have tired. But I have learned all it does is hide the facts that you wish to ignore, young one. It only prolongs the inevitable," Erestor's answer was flat and succinct.

"Can it not also provide hope?" inquired the younger immortal, brushing some silvery blonde hair aside form his face. The wind snapped it back into his eyes.

"If you look at the glass as half-full then why do you leave?" asked the older Elf tactfully. He was not Elrond's chief counselor for no reason. If he wanted to make a point he could make it in due time, no matter how disbelieving and stubborn the other was.

"It wasn't exactly my choice. But if there is nothing truly left, why should any of us stay?" The warrior pulled his cloak tighter as a bitter wind tore through the material. Suppressing a shiver, he said, "the mountains are closing in on us with their snow. Vil- the unmentionable thing," he amended without a spare breath, " is not protecting us anymore. She is allowing the outside world to destroy us."

"Lord Elrond will gain her control once more," said Erestor assuredly. "But until then we have to remain strong and try to keep our home, our lively hoods, alive. He must have something to return to." The younger Elf fell completely silent and looked remorseful and slightly disappointed in himself.

O0O0O0O0O0O

Legolas glared at the woman, as she demanded, "tell me exactly what I want to know, Elf. Do _not_ spare on the details. Am I understood?" She hissed. She pulled the string back tauter and a man stepped in behind her. His glare fell upon Legolas and his face turned into one of disgust as he cast a malicious frown at the Elf. Legolas returned the glare briefly but was really far too preoccupied with the present situation to make an issue of trivial things such as facial expressions. This was fortunate for the Harad man, Aragorn knew.

Legolas kept his eyes on the new human, but asked the woman carefully, "what is it you want?"

He watched in growing alarm that had been maturing surely inside as the man who entered walked around the maiden and stood before him, glaring down. That was one thing Legolas noticed: everybody glared at him. The woman answered him thickly around a set of obviously grit teeth. "Elf, my brother tells me they are looking for two fugitives. Two _special_ escapees from Prince Dorrag's prisons. One is an Elf the other a ranger." Legolas waited expectantly to hear more from her and to be bound, gagged and dragged back to those miserable cells. "Why does he want you so badly?" She asked in a low and threatening rumble.

The strange man, she had referred to as her brother spoke, "Dorrag is sending men to occupy our town, Elf. Why would he do that unless he truly values you both?" The man was unsatisfied when Legolas remained silent for seconds too long and he grabbed the prince's chin, squeezing it tightly. "What danger have you put us in?" Legolas was unsure about what needed to be said and what should be said so he remained quiet. "Speak _now,_ Elf."

Legolas drew a heavy breath and his eyes iced over with a stubborn malice of his own. He was in no frame of mind to speak while this man had a grip on his face. He was appalled the human had dared to touch him to begin with. "I will speak, _edain_ when you release your grip from my face." Fair was fair. However, Legolas had come to learn that the world was not fair and that often times prisoners and escapees received the short end of the deal.

The man smiled tensely and Legolas instinctually felt his anger and anxiety radiate from him. "Elf, you are lucky you are not dead at this moment. I wouldn't have to expend much effort to slay you both on this spot. So you had better start talking before my patience runs too low."

Legolas allowed a calm demeanor to wash over his features and he stared at the man through a pair of cool blue eyes that seemed nearly arrogant not to mention very haunting. This Haradrim man had a point and Legolas knew it was no use arguing anymore. If he wished to spare both of their lives he had better start telling all he was able. But he was going to have to be careful about the words chosen and the details given. "Human, exactly who is your lord? I must first know whom you serve and who you are before I start to tell you much of anything." Legolas didn't expect a decent or rational response, but for a rare moment he made a mistake of underestimating men.

The man found himself staring into the prince's calm eyes with annoyance that the Elf didn't seem the least bit concerned about the hand he had gripping his chin. It was slightly unsatisfying, but unlike a lot of people, he didn't take pleasure from other's pain or fears. "My sister, Mytra, took both you and your companion in, thus saving your lives. For _Wipsomë _is lethal to those who inhale too much of it, and sickening to those who inhale a little. And now you question our loyalties. You are wise though, Elf, to ask such a thing in these days. For not everyone is as they seem and there are many traps."

Legolas' face remained unchanged no matter what he was thinking and he said flatly, "speak plainly then, unless you have something to hide. You never truly answered my question." He felt the man's grip on his chin release and in animosity Legolas jerked his face away before leveling the warrior with a scathing glare. If he had a weapon of if he had been free, he would have shown this human what a true threat felt like, he thought with satisfaction.

"My name is Damrod, I was a warrior of Harad. But I left her service when things began get dark, chiefly after Dorrag took the throne in exchange for his father, who is out at war," Damrod told the Elf cautiously, circling around the blonde being and watching every move Legolas made. "I am loyal to myself and those in my family and service."

Legolas cast him an incredulous look with a raised brow and asked calmly, "and who is in _your_ service? What is its purpose?"

Damrod was not amused by the look of his strange prisoner and he snapped, "I ask the questions, Elf. You give the answers. Is that clear enough directions or do I need to make them simpler?" He didn't know why, but this Elf grated on his nerves to the point where he already felt like wringing his little neck. He just wanted to grasp it tightly and squeeze…and squeeze…

From the look Legolas was casting him he was sure the Elf had about the same opinion of himself.

Legolas diverted his gaze at Aragorn who looked extremely agitated and the long suffering-look in his eyes normally would have seemed amusing to the Elf. However, this time it was a bit alarming and Legolas glared at the woman who held the bow aimed at his friend's neck. "I am not going to try and run. Where would I go to?" Mytra glared back darkly.

"Answer my brother, Elf. Or find out what it is like to have a bolt placed though your friend's throat," she threatened ominously and her eyes flickered dangerously just to place emphasis on her statement. Legolas noted uncomfortably that once again she was entirely serious and didn't seem to be easily manipulated into changing her opinions or positions.

Legolas shot her an indignant glare before turning his angered gaze fully upon Damrod. "We were captured in battle by your lunatic of a prince and dragged to his _un_accommodating dungeons where we were nearly tortured to death. We managed to escape making use of a tunnel in the dungeon corridors."

Damrod's scowl didn't leave his face, rather it darkened. Legolas sighed inwardly with frustration and weariness. "Elf, why were you tortured at all? Why not simply slain or sent to a work camp?"

"Am I supposed to know that?" Legolas asked, righteously angry. He returned the dark scowlindentically before he upgraded his own to look slightly more malicious. Then he glanced at Aragorn in exasperation as much as for help. He was beginning to really get angry and was working hard to suppress his temper, which was trying with all it had to free itself. If he had been any younger and more reckless he was sure things would be a whole lot worse right now. Definitely.

Aragorn, wanting to relieve Legolas of some of his aggravation, answered, "he wanted my friend's name. Of course it is none of his business."

Damrod turned his piercing eyes from Legolas to Aragorn and then back onto the stubborn and incensed Elf. "What did he want with your name?" Legolas remained silent now, not knowing whether telling the absolute truth would be a good thing or not. Damrod frowned and then out of the blue he backhanded the prince angrily in growing frustration. "Answer me, or else I swear I will kill you."

Legolas felt the burning sensation in his cheek spread up to his eye and down along his jawbone. His eyes looked like molten sapphire and he growled spitefully, "if you want answers, you can be a little less aggressive about how you ask them of me." He felt more indignant than ever after that uncalled for slap.

Damrod had evidently had enough of this Elf's mouth and grabbing Legolas by his throat he shoved his back against the wall strongly and pressed with his thumb, cutting off the prince's airway. The spot he had chosen to shove the prisoner against was also uncomfortably close to the fire, a bonus if _you_ were doing the interrogating. But if you were the prisoner it was far from comfortable and a great deal less than a gratuity.

Aragorn struggled to rise and go to his friend's side but he was forced to stay where he was when he felt the tickle of the arrowhead brushing under his chin. Instead he looked desperately at Prince Legolas, who looked just as dignified and calm as ever, except that he looked more than a little annoyed by the entire situation and a slight red was flushing his face as his body craved air that was being withheld. And he also could tell that Legolas' patience with these people was wearing dangerously thin. If they were smart they would start watching their behavior a little more closely.

"I can be your greatest advocate or your worst adversary depending on how you answer me. Which is it, Elf?" he asked, tightening his grip. Legolas worked not to squirm but his bare shoulder was getting uncomfortably hot by the flames to its side. He was certain that was the general idea of pinning him, but if not it was an unlooked for benefit for his interrogator at the moment.

Aragorn plead inside that his friend would not be stupid and too stubborn on the account of his pride. He had a feeling he and Legolas could be in good hands if only he would answer the accursed questions. But Legolas could be perfectly impossible some times, and now was one of them. He didn't take kindly to threats and certainly not to being slapped or pushed around. Which was understandable but sometimes he got a little too angry and mule-headed for his own good. "_Just answer his questions, mellon nin_," Aragorn called desperately to his friend in Elven.

Legolas rolled his eyes.

"I do not know exactly why he wanted my name, that I swear by_ Eärendil's _light. I know he planned to have me executed publicly at some point though, but I know that he also had to know my name first," Legolas added at the end. "I promise, that is all I truly know." He nearly gagged when the hand was removed from his throat and he was allowed to move freely again, but he didn't want to give the man the satisfaction. Air rushed gratefully in to fully fill his lungs.

Damrod's grip loosened considerably. "Are you sure that is all you know, Elf? Perhaps if you give me your name-"

Legolas quickly interrupted, not caring much for manners at the point. "Never. If I were to impart to you my name, you would find yourself in even worse terrible danger anyway." He added softly and assuredly, "it really wouldn't be very beneficial." Aragorn gave Legolas a dubious glance and rolled his eyes in exasperation with his friend, though he did understand Legolas' reasoning.

"I highly doubt it Elf. And since you are going to staying with us for quite some time, I think it would be nice to being able to call you something other than 'Elf'. Wouldn't you agree?"

Legolas did have to admit that he did agree it would be nice. However it wasn't going to help the situation any. Mytra glanced up at her brother and then back at Legolas before she removed the crossbow from its position facing Aragorn's defenseless neck. Legolas truly found himself nearly all the way relaxed and he felt his muscles loosen. He smiled tiredly before saying without a second thought, "my name is Lindir."

Aragorn hid his amusement well, but it was definitely a struggle. Lindir…Legolas had taken the name of a bard of Rivendell, an annoying and insufferable bard of Rivendell. What the singer would think of Legolas taking his name Aragorn didn't dare to guess. However, he supposed the reaction wouldn't be a good one, unless the strangulation of a Sindar Prince was a virtuous thing. 'Shrewd move, mellon nin,' he thought wryly. 'Until one of us slips up and it is found out we are lying.' He was going to guess the consequences of lying were not going to be pleasant, particularly for Legolas.

Damrod gave the Elf-prince a slightly incredulous look before he decided to go along with everything. Apparently he didn't think it was worth arguing about just yet... perhaps never. He frowned and then Mytra got up quickly and left, shutting the door behind her, Aragorn noticed impassively. Legolas stood up slowly and rather stiffly, not like the graceful Elf he was. Closing the space between himself and Aragorn, he sat down at the ranger's side and his hands went subconsciously to his throat. He was sure that another bruise would form there sooner or later. Not that it would make much of a difference anyway…but that wasn't exactly the point.

Damrod went over and leaned casually against the hearth, his arms crossed. Frowning he looked at the Elf and ranger and then looked away. He needed to keep them from getting recaptured at all costs, well, not all costs, but there were few that were not worth it.

Legolas looked at him and blinked before he asked with narrowed eyes, "you mention earlier, 'those in your service', who might they be?" He wasn't sure that the truly wanted to know. Wincing as some old wounds that had been stressed during the brief interrogation pained him, the prince gave a small frown and looked up at Damrod wearily. He didn't expect much of an answer, so he was surprised when the man told him that and more besides. Aragorn stiffened near at Legolas' side when he could have sworn he felt Legolas jump slightly in shock. Damn Elf gave him a start…

"Lindir, I will not try and hide the fact from you that I am one of the coordinators of a …" he waved his hand as he searched for the right word. "A…resistance movement."

Pleasantly surprised, Legolas glanced sidelong at Aragorn and both exchanged glances. Legolas then frowned suddenly and unexpectedly. They still might not be in the safest of hands. If they were valuable to one side they were to the other. It was like a scale and Legolas and Aragorn were the weight that tipped it. He had a feeling…sinking feeling….both sides would do anything for possession of he or Aragorn and he had an even worse feeling in his gut that Aragorn was expendable to these people. This meant, for one thing, that he and Aragorn were not going to be allowed to heal and waltz out of this place so easily.

He dimly became aware of Aragorn speaking to Damrod. "You don't say."

"Oh, but I do ranger. And if you are valuable to Dorrag you are to me as well." Here he shook his head dejectedly. "Dorrag may be evil and he may be insane but he is not stupid. Tell me, who helped to free you both? For certainly you could never escape on your own."

Somehow Legolas had know this was coming…he was just aggravated that he hadn't chosen to believe it. Looking at Aragorn he sighed and then said, "If you feel you have to know, his name was Darcíl. He was one of Dorrag's cursed captains who…" Legolas' voice trailed off slowly as he saw the color seem to drain a little from the human's face. He couldn't possibly imagine what he had said to make the other this…upset but apparently not all was well.

Damrod shook his head as though to clear it of a painful memory or of shock. He said quietly, " Darcíl helped you to escape? Did he tell you anything at all? It may not mean anything to you, but it might to me."

"He said nothing, but what is it to you?" questioned Legolas forthrightly. He gave Damrod a questioning look as the man stepped into the firelight all the way. For the first time Legolas saw his features clearly, or well, nearly so. Jaw dropping in shock Legolas began to stammer, "you are-"

"His twin," finished Aragorn abashed. His jaw dropped and he closed it with an audible snap as soon as he discovered it open.

"I am... I was under his command at one time. Then I left when Dorrag began to show some of his more prominent and sinister qualities. I think Darcíl would have joined me a long time ago, but he could not because of -"

"His family," consummated the Elf in understanding.

"You seem somewhat familiar with how tyrants work, Lindir," mused Damrod, verbally prodding the blonde being who was shooting him a dark look or warning.

"I actually am a quick learner, Master Damrod," the prince informed flatly.

"Indeed," the Harad man shook his head. He had heard Elves were quick and wise but he hadn't really given it much thought until now. He scowled and split his scrupulous look between the two companions sitting on the floor before him. "How did you end up escaping?"

"Well there was a tunnel," Aragorn began, watching Legolas' face. "We went through it until one portion collapsed due to the torrential rains. There was a place carved out by the water and we followed it, ending up in your cellar-"

"And captured by your very hospitable sister with a pitchfork to my throat," Legolas finished satirically and rather cynically. Aragorn scowled at his companion but said nothing.

Damrod chuckled and said with a smile, "she can be rather eccentric." His smile brightened when there was a noise at the door and she came in carrying a tray with five bowls while a small child tottered behind her followed by the wolf-ish looking dog. Aragorn felt Legolas stiffen noticeably and he smiled inwardly. He had to admit, that dog _did_ look a little bloodthirsty at times.

Damrod paid no attention as his sister passed out the bowls to the guests first and then to himself. "He wanted you to end up in the village of Mysol, just west of here." The man shook his head and said, " you _might_ have been safe there."

Legolas looked curiously at his soup in his bowl and the meat floating around in it before he asked with interest, "and so where are we now?"

"You are in the village of Astroggen." Damrod shook his head and said, "you both must have a run of bad luck between you. There is no worse place to be if you are fugitives." He downed a spoonful of the hearty soup.

Aragorn looked at Legolas pointedly and said under his breath, "you have no idea." The prince shot a withering glare at his companion before he took a cautious sip of his soup from the wooden spoon he had been provided with. It didn't taste half-bad, he told himself inwardly. He could get used to it at any rate.

"Why is it the worst place to be?" Legolas inquired dryly as he shifted closer to Aragorn and further from the 'dog', Gundol.

"You don't miss a thing, do you?" retorted Damrod with a tense smile. "Well, Astroggen is known for its…rebellions. Suspicion will fall here first. In Mysol it would have taken longer for Prince Dorrag to send an army or detachment for your recapture and so you could have escaped from there. Astroggen is also only a day's march from the main city where the palace stands."

Aragorn swallowed his spoonful of soup before asking, "and what is the name of the main city?"

Damrod was quiet for a moment. These were not Haradrim. They had been captured by an enemy army. He didn't care if they died except for the fact that Dorrag wanted them dead. But the name of their main city certainly couldn't hurt…"It is called Sygul in our tongue. I don't know what that is in yours." He finished his soup and set the bowl aside before saying further, "Do you even know why Darcíl aided your escape? Well, I guess the correct question is, do you know why Dorrag wants you publicly executed?" He shook his head before either Legolas or Aragorn could answer, "he doesn't care about you. He would kill you on the spot except for one small thing."

"I can easily believe that, Master Damrod," Legolas muttered, much to Aragorn's annoyance. He was finding Legolas to be insufferable today. But was that really an abnormal assurance? 'Not really,' he told himself with a heavy internal sigh.

Damrod didn't even seem to notice the comment. "The reason Dorrag wants your public execution like a dog longs for a juicy bone, is because it will...enhance his hold over the Haradrim people. They will fear him, Lindir, as well they should. Dorrag is the kind of person who believes that the means justify the ends. And also, though they fear him the will exult him. We do not love Elves or rangers, as I am sure you already know. If he were to publicly put one cruelly to death, he would gain their respect along with their fear. Both are a good combination to garner."

"What does that have to do with my name? I am sure the people could care less about it," Legolas brushed the inhabitance off.

Damrod glared. "Well if he has your name and where you are from, then he can send messengers to your land and hopefully get an envoy sent for your release. But he would then most likely capture that envoy and have them all put to death save one. That one he would torture and then send back with your head, most likely, to show your lord. Thus not only does Dorrag kill a few more Elves but frightens them out of the wars."

Legolas nearly laughed at the stupidity of the prince of these Haradrim people. But it really wasn't a laughing matter and outwardly his expression was dark and grim, even a little cold. "My people," he ground out. "Would not be frightened. They would seek terrible retribution on your prince and all who aided him." His eyes turned into ice cold wells of suppressed anger.

Damrod nodded, "that maybe be so. But I feel that I must keep you alive. The last thing I want is for Dorrag's power to grow." He glared at the pair calculatingly. " Darcíl will be needing me, I expect. Dorrag will seek a harsh retribution on him and any that are his relation. At the moment I am thought to be dead."

"Dead?" Aragorn asked more than a little skeptically. He gave the man a questioning look. Legolas just lifted his brows in slight amusement and inquiry.

Damrod smiled coldly. "A gift form my dear brother." Legolas didn't question him further but Aragorn did.

"How is it that Darcíl helps everyone else's escape, but can't escape himself?"

At this moment Mytra spoke, taking her small son into her lap. "His family will be killed if he dares to do anything against Dorrag. If what he did for you was found out chances are he is dead and his family in the East-Town will be very soon. Not only will Dorrag burn their home," she stroked her son's dark hair lovingly as she spoke, "he will raze the village."

"That's what will happen to Astroggen if he finds you here, or even if he doesn't and his men are finished occupying it." He got up and began to walk towards the door. "That is the danger you have placed us and everyone here in." He looked at his sister dejectedly.

"I am afraid this means I cannot stay here and rest as I had hoped. I must go and see what is transpiring about us. But I won't be going alone." His eyes fell upon Aragorn clearly. "You will come with me. Lindir will stay behind."

Aragorn felt a twinge of alarm and fear for his friend race through his mind. He looked at Legolas who looked less than happy about the entire idea either. As a matter of fact, he could not remember when he had seen Legolas looking so alarmed and unhappy, save for the times when his friend had been tortured. The blonde being spoke up quickly. "You cannot do that! What if something happens?"

"What if it does? We are all taking chances, Elf. If you want a chance at survival, you must take chances," Damrod answered sagely. "Things should go smoothly, save for outposts we may have to encounter and for detachments scouring the land for your whereabouts. But I think we can elude both."

Legolas closed his mouth with an audible snap before he opened it again and plead desperately, "at least let me accompany you if you wish to be insane about this." He stood up and leveled Damrod and his sister both with a withering and yet nervous grimace.

Damrod shook his head and stated regretfully, "I am afraid that is not an option. I do not want you both in the same place at the same time. If you are together then there is more of a chance at Dorrag's plan succeeding if you are captured. However, if he only captures one then things won't work so well."

Legolas narrowed his eyes lethally before he spoke again, "I will not stay here while my friend is taken into dangers unknown. He just got over torture for Eru's sake!"

"But you shall, Elf…Lindir, and you will keep your mouth shut and won't cause any trouble," Damrod commanded. "Remember, I can kill you both. I am choosing to be merciful. Don't wear my patience too thin." He drew his sword out and placed the tip of it against Legolas' throat, letting it slightly bite softly and smoothly into the pale and soft skin as a warning. Legolas ' look of long-suffering and annoyance deepened and Aragorn looked worriedly at his friend. The Elf stared blankly at the metal blade that could very easily slit his throat. He then realized detachedly that it was coming close _to_ slitting his throat. Blinking, he looked to Aragorn, whose face had drained some of its color, which it had only recently regained.

Gapping like a fish out of water, Legolas closed his mouth slowly as realization dawned on him. He was still in trouble even if these people were moderately kind, which really that weren't even that. But at the moment he was too weary and thoroughly confused to be 'splitting hairs' as the expression went.

"I know you won't give me any trouble, Elf."

Looking thoroughly and unalterably indignant, Legolas replied curtly, "don't be so sure." He winced as he felt blade tug slightly under his chin, just where blades always seemed to find there way. 'Congratulations,' he told himself, 'that has to be at least the fifteenth one!' He smiled thinly at Aragorn, who was watching anxiously, hoping he wasn't going to witness his friend's throat being slashed.

'Damn it all Legolas!' he fumed at the Elf mentally. 'Just go with them. You know I'll be fine.' But no, Legolas was too stubborn and overly protective to do that, wasn't he? Of course he was, just as he always had been. Though Aragorn couldn't really blame him entirely for it.

"Now, Lindir, Don't make a scene in front of the boy," Damrod said incisively as he gestured towards his nephew. Legolas looked a bit shakily at the small child and cast a smile at him, causing the boy to giggle. Mytra scooped up her son and quickly exited the room at a nod from her brother. Then Damrod commanded of Legolas, "turn around and walk down the hall. I will dictate the rest to you when we get _that_ far." Legolas rolled his eyes but obediently turned to the door and began to walk out of it.

He really and truly couldn't believe he was doing this just because someone had stuck a knife to his throat. Torture was worse than death and yet by torturing him people really couldn't get him to do anything. It was an odd thing, he decided disjointedly as he walked down the dark and small corridor. It was so small he could literally take his arms and have them halfway extended while scraping the walls with his fingertips. It was also dark and sort of ominous.

Not to mention short, he realized when he all but walked into the end, nearly banging his nose on the wall.

"Now, Lindir, open the door to your right and step in. Behave now and I won't have to hurt you," Damrod instructed all too calmly.

Legolas rolled his eyes and begrudgingly opened up the door by use of the nearly inadequate knob. Stepping in he slowly turned around and realized what he had known to be the intentions all along as the door began to swing towards his face. It shut with a dull thud leaving him on the wrong side and Legolas immediately banged his fists on it. "You can't do this! No! Strider! No! No! Stop!" he protested with all the fierceness he could muster that was belied by his desperation.

Damrod turned the lock into place with a small click and pushed the banging of the Elf's fists upon the door's wooden surface out of his mind. They soon stopped anyway.

He looked to the room they had just been in and saw Aragorn hanging against the doorpost with a hand and looking at where Legolas had been standing. A sickly sort of green tint had come into Aragorn's face and he looked more than anxious for the immortal now imprisoned in a spare room. "Lindir…" he murmured, knowing better than to use Legolas' real name.

Legolas slumped against the door in despair and inward anger. Then he smiled wickedly at himself with more than a little amusement at what he had said a few moments ago. 'Stop'…he had demanded them to stop just like that. What an idiot he had been. It wasn't as though they would stop just because he said so, so why did he bother to say anything at all? For a moment he saw red as he felt a slight stab of betrayal mingle with his already evil temper. His friend was on the other side of this door, walking headlong into danger and he was not permitted to go with him.

A devious not to mention perilous and perfectly sinister light came into the Mirkwood Elf's eyes as he pressed his forehead up against the door in frustration, ignoring the headache that began to throb though his senses. He _would_ find a way out of here, by Eärendil's Light, he would, or he would die trying.

O0O0O0O0O0O0O

Darcíl lay in the mud, unable to truly move. He wondered if he had broken his spine but the fact that everything hurt far too much disproved that fear. Rolling his eyes upward as the rain began to pelt his face, he knew he had to get up, he had to get to his family. Struggling wit himself he forced his feet to move and his arms. He was more than a little annoyed that he could not simply seem to find a way to move faster. No, that was an understatement…he was incised that he could go no faster when his family needed him desperately, right now! Why is it when you want to go fastest is when you are hampered worst?

Finally getting his limbs to reasonably cooperate, the man forced himself to sand on a pair of shaking limbs but the world seemed to spinning. It was spinning right? Well, was it supposed to do that? Probably not, he concluded after a moment of watching strange images merging and twisting. He couldn't keep the stars out of his vision and blood ran down his face from a fresh laceration on his forehead.

Looking and seeing his dead horse, the man quickly began to run or rather run/stagger, towards the burning village. He could see the smoke, black in billowing masses, but he couldn't smell it at all. It was now blowing around him so thick he could hardly see as the wind pushed it around. But he didn't feel or sense anything. He was completely numb and everything was going so slow he that was sure he was traveling through invisible molasses.

His head felt like it wasn't even remotely a part of his body but rather something floating above him. He blinked as he wondered if he were alive. Maybe he was a ghost or having an out of body experience. A searing blast from the heat of the burning of a home just beyond the town nearly blistered his face and he realized that unfortunately this was all too real and painful. Wincing against the heat he closed his eyes and walked further.

As he closed his eyes his other senses sharpened incomparably and he noticed things he hadn't before. There were many footsteps, in order, marching…that was what it was. The troupes were moving out, but why didn't they see him and shoot him or capture him? Why didn't they do anything? Perhaps it was orders to go straight to the palace that kept them from killing him, but he had a feeling that it was because they would not see him through the thick and surging smoke.

Having to stop so he could try and breathe properly, Darcíl nearly collapsed with the inhalation of all the poisonous fumes. His throat felt dry and constricted coupled with the uncomfortable fact that his mouth felt mortally parched. It was like his mouth was filled with ash, which it was quite possible that it literally was. He knew he wouldn't be surprised if he coughed and choked on a cloud of ash. Shaking his head, once again trying to regain his senses, the man of Harad staggered another few meager steps before he became overwhelmed by the smoke and slumped to the ground.

His hands clawed the ground desperately as he used all of his nearly depleted strength to try and drag himself towards where he knew his family was dying, burning and screaming. If this fire was this hot and lethal outside of the village, wiping out the crops and obliterating farms and people he didn't like to think about what it had to be like within the boundaries of Dygon, the village that lived forever in shadow of Sygul, their capital. The sickening smell of burning flesh, human and animal, made his stomach lurch and he heard the screams of geese racing and flapping around as the fumes finally suffocated them. He knew the people of this farm were already dead.

Forcing himself to travel another irrelevant and meager few inches, Darcíl finally had to submit himself to his body's weakness and collapse. He was not able to get enough air into his starving lungs and the more he tried toe worse it got. Perhaps he should die, right here, right now. That would be a whole lot better, wouldn't it? He would get to see his family once more, whom he had missed dearly these past few months.

He felt the ash and fire come close to his face but he didn't care. Thinking he was dying, Darcíl allowed himself to blackout completely and his body stilled as the fire and smoke curled around him.

**TBC…..OUCH, yeah, poor Legolas being locked in a room while Aragorn is being taken off into mortal danger…. But life is good. At least for us. **

**Please review! We really do enjoy hearing from you all! Truly. ****Thank you so much for these wonderful reviews! You are all so encouraging!**


	19. The World's Game Board

_**CHAPTETR NINETEEN**_

The World's Game Board 

Having been safely and altogether easily extracted from the gapping pit he had been in, Erestor was now riding Mablung's horse while the younger immortal walked beside the counselor. Erestor looked indignant and rather hurt as he rode back into Rivendell at a walk while Mablung held the horse's reins. The young warrior was constantly looking at his feet, ashamed and afraid to falter further. He hadn't meant anything he had said in a bad way, but from the look of things he couldn't help but decide to leave.

Glancing up at Erestor in a crestfallen way, the Elf quickly diverted his eyes back to his feet, keeping himself as silent as possible. Mablung was even cautious of his breathing, carefully drawing small breaths at a time and monitoring very discreetly how he exhaled. His due precautions were beginning to grate heavily upon his companion's nerves and the other Elf that flanked Erestor's right glared pugnaciously across Elrond's adviser. "You can stop your needless shame and brooding, Mablung," Erestor said quietly. "Most have chosen as you have, and I must admit I can't blame them. But I think we have a job to do here and we can't get through this horror unless we help each other and do our best to insure our survival. Running from danger is no aid to anyone at the moment."

Mablung wanted to protest, truly he did, but when he opened his mouth words came out that not only astonished him, but his companion as well. "I will stay and help as I can." Erestor smiled calmly and knowingly, as he had known what effect his words would have on the young warrior. Perhaps he was manipulative but that was his job, after all, being the head counselor.

"I know," answered Erestor simply as a small grin spread across his face and he looked at Mablung's gapping mouth. The raven-haired counselor chuckled as the other stammered, unable to speak. His face was quickly obtaining a color akin to sunburn and it was gradually spreading up to his eyebrows where it finally stopped but didn't begin to recede. His eyes were wide and coupled with everything else he looked absolutely appalled.

"You knew all along!" he accused, abashed while knowing full well that he should not be the least bit surprised. He stared up and then his expression finally gave way to narrowed eyes and knitted brows as he cast what could very easily be called a malicious glare at his lord. "My lord, you are very conniving."

"Am I now?" Erestor said with as stern a face as he could force upon his features, which was precious little and a small pulled at his lips until he allowed them to curve up with a grin. "Well I wouldn't say I _knew_ but I did guess." He was about to say more when he suddenly saw the trees were now fully bare around Rivendell. They were fading, dying…he shuddered as he felt his heart bleed. His life seemed to be going to shambles all about him and grimacing, he looked dubiously and sadly at both of the young warriors on either side of him. He didn't understand, or more accurately _want_ to understand, all that was happening.

The snow blew up in the wind, making things dark and dreary, not to mention bleak. Everything was virtually cheerless, even the birds were gone and he had no idea if the stars would ever shine here again. If he had felt more depressed at any time in his life he could not remember it, and he had a long memory. It nearly matched Lord Elrond's.

"Being home never felt worse," he muttered under his breath, causing the two warriors to exchange sorrowful looks from across him before they looked straight ahead at the homes and buildings that had once been so full of life and beauty. Oh there was still beauty, but it looked cold and prickly, causing their stomachs to sicken.

Erestor had never thought any set of people could suffer so much from the loss of one person. But here it was, an ancient race was getting ready to depart Middle Earth forever. 'These have to be the most unlikely turn of events I have witnessed since the Last Alliance and the Battle of the Dagorlad,' he told himself inwardly with a frown.

Mablung looked up at this lord meekly and then ventured to ask, "do you have any ideas of where to start this entire… restoration process?" he fumbled for the right words. He was slightly afraid of setting Erestor off on one of his famous tirades or pushing him into a calm spell that was enough to make one's blood run cold. But Erestor did nothing but look straight ahead, quietly, staring at seemingly nothing.

"My lord?"

"Yes, yes, I was thinking," he said hastily, looking down at the other Elf quickly. "To answer your question bluntly, I do not have the slightest idea. First I need to see what's what and where things are and others stand."

Mablung gulped inaudibly and didn't try not to look uneasy and distressed, stopping the horse and looking up at the adviser he quickly shook his head despondently before mumbling, "you aren't going to like it."

Erestor turned abruptly on one of his rescuers with an annoyed look slipping its way into his silver eyes. "Your hints are worse than simply experiencing the actual horror. If you can't be exact, please, say absolutely nothing!"

As the three came into Rivendell, none ran to greet them. Erestor frowned grimly as he saw the looks on the Elves' pale faces. They were white with shock and confusion. Erestor knew he was a counselor -_the counselor_, but at the moment he was not sure if he would know exactly how to counsel anyone. He didn't know if the words would come out correctly and he was afraid of looking like an idiot or of saying something better kept in the dark. Vilya was certainly not something to be spoken of if it could be helped and definitely not something to be talked about lightly.

Looking at the tall and graceful buildings and designs that graced them, he was sharply reminded of better times. The adviser dismounted solemnly and Mablung gasped with a rapidly paling face, "my lord, your ankle!" He reached a hand out and grasped Erestor's upper arm preventively to keep the counselor from falling flat on his face.

Erestor winced and mumbled grumpily under his breath, "forgot about that." He immediately took the pressure off the injured limb and shook his head in annoyance. The world wavered about him for a moment and Mablung's companion looked at him incredulously.

"My lord?"

"I am fine," Erestor lied gruffly, not even glancing at the warriors. His eyes were transfixed on what remained of his home.

"Pardon me," the other Elf answered, "but you are not. You cannot walk."

Erestor glared indignantly and stared Mablung down until the young warrior let go of his arm and then he took an awkward and probably unwise step forward. His leg ached and a sharp pain raced up clear to his hip. Erestor bit his lip to prevent a small cry of pain from slipping past. From now on he would make a point to avoid falling into deep, wet, dangerous holes. Well, he amended promptly, more of a point than he had before.

Mablung cast his companion a skeptical smile. "Two minutes, Arminas."

The other Elf gave him a bewildered look.

Mablung rolled his eyes. "Two minutes until he falls."

Arminas nodded in new understanding. 'More like one,' he thought to himself, eyeing his lord as Erestor hobbled forward lamely. Dismounting his horse, he strode to standby his friend as they observed Erestor's meager and slow progress.

As it turned out, both Elves were wrong and it took a matter of a few seconds for the dark-haired adviser to stumbled and fall to his knees, his bad leg sliding beneath him. Arminas and Mablung exchanged amused but alarmed glances before leaving their horses and rushing to their liege's aid. But they could not hide the smiles doggedly pulling their mouth's corners upwards.

"If you say 'I told you so' once, I will kill you -slowly -I promise, "Erestor grumbled out threateningly. His eyes rolled grimly and he snorted softly. He would try to stand but he certainly didn't need the humiliation of falling again, so he settled for sitting on the ground with his injured leg folded beneath him whilst giving the warriors withering and expecting glares. At least the young Elves could make themselves useful other than gapping at him like love struck fish!

Mablung moved for him first and held his hand down for his lord. "We would never say such an atrocious thing, my lord. You insult us." He smiled as Erestor's face glowed faintly with amusement at his lie.

"I won't say anything," muttered the counselor as he was eased shakily back onto his feet and supported as he stood.

"You wound us, my lord," replied Arminas dryly, mock hurt flickering across his face.

Erestor nodded numbly, now putting his concentration back on the problems at hand. Leaning as little as possible on Mablung, he gazed at the remains of the heart of Rivendell. He could see Elves wondering amid the rubble, helping to fix and recover things. His heart bleed when he saw the cloaks they wore, travelling cloaks. He could tell they were preparing to depart. His face was blank and so Arminas and Mablung couldn't tell what he was rightfully thinking.

O0O0O0O0O

"Ranger," Damrod told Aragorn as they headed down a flight of old and creaky wooden stairs. "I lied to your companion but it is time for you to know the truth. I am not taking you scouting with me. But it is far too dangerous to keep you both together. I know a place where you can hide, where you can rest. If the city is occupied you will be hard put to remain hidden but it is the best we can do in a few hours."

Aragorn stared blankly at the other man before he spoke. His face was contorted in terror for Legolas and pain at being separated from his closest and only friend in this deplorable place. "You cannot be serious! If you say you lied to him then how can I know you are not lying to me? How do I know this isn't a trap-"

"Ranger, let me make this clear. I am far from in league with Dorrag. Imply as much again and I will personally kill you, putting you out of their grasp forever. I am being generous keeping you alive. The only one we really need alive is Lindir, but you both must be separated because while one of you is out of Dorrag's reach and he believes you to be alive or knows for certain you are alive, then he will doubt everything and will not strike unless he must. Meaning he will not execute your friend until you are taken care of first." Damrod paused for a breath and said slowly, "we will do our best to protect him and keep him safe (more for our sake than his), but if he causes trouble, we don't have a problem with putting him in his place."

Aragorn felt the color drain from his face and realized quickly that this was actually worse to some degree than the imprisonment they had been placed in earlier. None of these people cared a bit for their lives. They were simply pieces in a cruel and wicked game of power, greed and for freedom. He knew from past stories and experiences that these things seldom had a happy ending. "How safe is he…for now?" Aragorn questioned dubiously as he looked directly into Damrod's unblinking eyes with a look of anxiousness.

"He is relatively safe, until the city is occupied, but do not put it past Mytra to get him into a safe place," he admitted, seeming to know that Aragorn would not rest if he thought his friend was in instant and mortal danger that would call for his aid. He grabbed Aragorn's arm and began pull the ranger after him as they reached the bottom floor.

Aragorn was barely able to keep up in his state and he stumbled down the last few steps drearily. 'Interesting,' he commented mentally. 'Stairs always seem to appear when they are the least convenient.' With an inward sigh, the man stumbled on after the Harad man leading him. He normally would be in finding out exactly what was going on but he was more than a bit weary and he didn't have the luxury of choice at the moment.

The last thing he needed was for these people to think that it wasn't worth the trouble of keeping he or Legolas alive. He was certain that once Legolas had enough time to brood and think things over and get thoroughly angered with himself and everything in general that he would do a good job of wearing out their welcome in and of himself. 'Legolas does possess quite a temper when the occasion calls for it.' He frowned and then amended his statement. 'No, even if it doesn't call for it.'

Damrod placed a hand out, hitting Aragorn gently across the chest to stop him from further forward movements. Quickly he hissed, "wait here. Stay low and against the wall so that none that look through the window may see you. The less they know of your presence the better." Giving Aragorn a stern and incredulous look he asked forwardly, "can you do that?"

Aragorn would have glared, but he was torn between laughing at this man's incredibly dumb question and scowling from the insult of it. The result was a hard and emotionless expression that Damrod obviously took for agreement and he left Aragorn's side, quickly closing the space between himself and a large trunk in the opposite corner. The ranger stayed where he had been advised but his impassive face turned to one of curiosity. His eyes narrowed and his brows came together in the lower center of his forehead.

Damrod yanked testily out of the trunk a spare cloak, a tunic and an older knife. Tossing the clothes at Aragorn he commanded curtly, "put these on." Aragorn complied slowly, not feeling like arguing and actually rather grateful for the clothing. It served to make him feel less vulnerable and exposed. He nearly wrinkled his nose though as he thought the supple material smelled sort of musty. But he had to admit that they were a reasonably good fit, all things considered. His thoughts were taken from his 'new' wardrobe as Damrod approached him again.

Taking the knife, he handed that also to Aragorn slowly, and rather hesitantly. He didn't strictly agree with giving this stranger who was fighting his country a knife, but he could not protect Aragorn at every given moment and he was more than convinced that Aragorn could protect himself. "This may be of service to you."

Aragorn took the blade and looked closely at it and then questioningly at Damrod. "Why are you giving this to me?" This was hardly something he would have expected and Aragorn would be lying if he said he didn't suspect a trap behind it. He knew as well as anyone that Damrod was far from stupid and far from arrogant. His eyes turned hard and cold as he asked again, "why?"

"You may need protection and I have a feeling you are more than capable of it. I cannot be with you all the time and I can spare no one. I will simply have to trust you." He looked darkly out of the window, nudging the burlap cloth curtain out of the way grimly and barely enough to see what was transpiring outside. His expression was so bleak it put a simple grey stone to shame.

Aragorn frowned and looked grimly at Damrod before sighing heavily. "What about the women and children?" His silver eyes connected with Damrod's dark ones and Mytra's voice spoke clearly and succinctly from another room as she came out, her son trailing at her heels.

"They have been through it before. We shall be fine," the woman informed Aragorn tensely, her eyes catching fire. Aragorn could have sworn he had distinctly heard the initial spark start the blaze in them." Many women here are trained in the sword, if it comes down to the final thread we will fight." She swirled her head behind her and down, smiling at her son. "Yes, we will fight for our lives and the lives of others."

Damrod spoke his mind in front of Aragorn, not troubling who heard him. "But Dorrag's troupes will raze this city to the ground! Our only chance in survival is to get out of dodge!" he pointed out sharply. Shaking his head in alarm and anxiety, the man of Harad said to Aragorn, "I will have a convoy arranged to take Lindir further from the city into the desert. When Dorrag's troupes near the city, you shall come later in a separate convoy. We have to keep Dorrag guessing as to your whereabouts."

Aragorn opened his mouth to argue but he couldn't quite think of anything to say. But Legolas would never cooperate. They didn't understand! "He will never leave willingly," the dark-haired ranger finally managed out in a gasp. He knew Legolas would never submit himself to their mercy or their decisions. Legolas was going to get himself hurt…

Damrod gave a sad smile that was more than assuring and made Aragorn shudder, reminding him of Darcíl almost immediately. Though that wasn't surprising considering they were _twins_. "We have ways of making people very subservient and rather compliant." He continued to gaze out of the window. Aragorn looked at Mytra and saw her face was grave and her eyes were emotionless. She knew what Damrod was talking about all to well it seemed from her expression the ranger was glad he didn't.

In sickening dread and dismay, Aragorn looked at the other man with wide eyes conveying well his perturbation for his friend. "What are you going to do to him?" he asked angrily, feeling his temper beginning to flare. He now was fully beginning to understand that pieces of a game were due homage. It took real patience to allow yourself to be used and abused and never again would he lob a chess piece across the room at Elladan's head. He didn't appreciate what was going on in the least and what he hated most was all the dissimulation that was developing about him, especially considering not only his life but Legolas' was being played with like they were no more than carved wooden pawns; a part of the world's vast and cruel game board.

"Nothing that will harm him, I can assure you. We may be forced to drug him or bind him, but he won't be hurt unless he lashes out," Damrod tried to rationalize with Aragorn but he might have well said they were going to sacrifice Legolas to Sauron on an alter.

The ranger turned on the man attempting to reason with him and gripped his tunic tightly and shook Damrod as he spoke just to make a point. "He is not just some worthless pawn you are playing with! He is my friend and I want him brought out of this alive! He will comply if you are reasonable! But just because he is an Elf doesn't make him an animal for you to use until it no longer fits your purpose!" The dangerous and nearly possessed light that took Aragorn's eyes by storm reminded Damrod easily of tempestuous and turbulent clouds on an icy day when a hailstorm was expected. Ironically enough, another storm approaching outside announced its presence with a roll of thunder that shook the house.

"Get your hands off me ranger or lose them!" snapped Damrod angrily as he thrust his arms out, propelling Aragorn maliciously backwards. Aragorn stumbled a few steps back more than he normally would have, due to his wounds and then stopped himself whilst giving Damrod the most withering glare he knew how to give, which was completely antagonistic in appearance. "Is it not enough to you that he is alive?" Damrod growled at the ranger bitterly.

"He will cooperate, as long as he knows I am safe and you treat him like a human-being!" Aragorn snarled back combatively. But actually, he knew that Legolas would most likely still be about as easy for them to control as a bull seeing red from all the corners of his eyes. He felt his fury building up as he thought of leaving Legolas alone with these people! He didn't trust them as far as he could shoot them with a cross bow and right now he wished that he had one of those, because there were a few people he wouldn't mind putting a bolt in their foot. Smiling mentally at the amusing thought of seeing Damrod hopping around on one foot, the man somehow managed to keep his outward expression unfriendly and unamused.

Mytra frowned as she vigilantly watched the heated exchange between her brother and this ranger. She had no feeling for Elves or rangers in the least. She absolutely hated them and their kind and she knew that if they hadn't needed to keep this Elf and ranger as valuable pieces Damrod would have been more than happy to slit that Elf's throat. She wouldn't mind putting a bolt into his chest as well.

Damrod snapped, "he will be treated as best as he allows!"

There as a silence in which no one even seemed to breathe. Aragorn felt it weighing on him heavily and looked nervously from Damrod to Mytra and then to the little boy. Well, if he was going to be caught up in this conflict of which he wanted no part but apparently had no choice he figured he had better know a bit more about it. It was only fair, not that he expected _these_ people to understand that, but it was better to go ahead and try to learn a bit more about these frustrating and confusing circumstances.

"What exactly are you fighting for?" he asked, not being able to develop a more tactful way to ask the same question. He felt sort of stupid asking it so bluntly but under these conditions it wasn't entirely his fault. "I mean," he added after Damrod and Mytra gave him the worst identical long-suffering look he had seen in living memory. "I understand perfectly well going against someone like Dorrag." He had resisted using choice words to describe the lunatic of a ruler. "But what exactly is your purpose after defeating him?"

Damrod looked amused as compared to Mytra, who looked impassive. "You cannot possibly understand, Gondorian, so I advise you not to waste your time-"

Aragorn broke in hastily. "Is it wasting my time to know more about a resistance movement that I am forced to be a part of?" His eyes narrowed and his mouth's corners turned down into an aggravated frown as his stubborn tendencies decided to present themselves once more. He was not going to be satisfied until he got some answers. 'And you had better prepare yourself,' the logical portion of his mind advised. 'Because that may take awhile.'

"Ranger, I am not sure this is stuff you need to be knowing. If you are captured I don't want you to know anything they can force out of you," Damrod answered hesitantly. He eyed Aragorn suspiciously as though he thought he might be a spy. Finally he decided that it didn't really matter too much what the ranger knew and didn't know. "Look, here is what is going on, we work in units, causing distractions and killing those who interfere. But those distractions-"

"Are exactly what you say, distractions, forcing Dorrag to turn a blind eye to your real plan," the ranger finished. "Crafty."

"We must be, or we die," Damrod said, looking at his sister. He frowned. "But as for the real plan, we haven't been able to carry it out." Here he sighed wearily. "There have been and _are_ many complications."

Aragorn raised a brow incredulously. "Like what?" He had a general idea that involved pillaging troupes, torrential rains and weekly executions, but he didn't know too much beyond that. He fixed Damrod with a glazed-eyed stare that he had found to get on other people's nerves in the past. After all, he wasn't trying to make friends, he was trying to survive and he felt the things he was not being told were crucial.

Damrod tensed as he felt fury slowly building up inside. "Dorrag sends his pillaging troupes over to plunder our towns…"

'Ah, just as I thought,' Aragorn took in the information silently while he turned it all over in his head.

"Dorrag has it in his head that we can work all summer to grow crops and then it is his right to come and send his troupes to pillage our stores and leave us with nothing. It simply comes down to the fact that we can't keep our supplies up. As a matter of fact, the troupes are overdue, a result of you and that Elf." The man frowned suddenly and his black eyes turned a shade darker. "However that brings us to the second complication, both of you.

Dorrag obviously wants you both and he is not stupid. To publicly execute that Elf would give him extreme advantage. " Here Aragorn grimaced, unable to think of his best friend being put to death. "But you see, since he cannot find you that gives us an advantage."

"But it also puts us at a disadvantage," Mytra pointed out to the ranger as he looked at her. Her face was grim as she spoke. "He will be looking for you, and especially for Lindir. When he does his troupes will not be very merciful."

Damrod looked indifferent and sedated as he spoke again. "We would kill you both. There are many places to hide a body or two. But he wants you dead and so if he wants you dead, then we want to both to remain alive. And if we can use either of you to our advantage even more, we will."

"What is this master plan of yours, then?" Aragorn inquired, sensing a burning fury now gathering strength as he realized they really didn't care a bit about Legolas ' life or his own. This wasn't surprising and he already understood they were simply pieces to a dangerous game but now he was beginning to realize that aside from being dangerous the game was getting complicated.

Damrod looked annoyed thoroughly that Aragorn would ask such a question. But that was to be expected, they were part of this conflict now. At least it proved they were not complete idiots. "We were going to gather an army. Its main place is Mysol."

"I thought you said Dorrag wouldn't look for trouble in Mysol?" Aragorn questioned thoughtfully, eyes darting suspiciously from Damrod to Mytra and back to Damrod once more.

"He won't," Damrod answered simply. "Mysol has never shown any signs of trouble before and so he has no reason to. An army could safely he built there without very much suspicion falling on it. The few soldiers of his majesty who go there never return and Dorrag assumes the desert has claimed them." The knowledge of what fate really befell the soldiers went without saying.

Aragorn nodded, realizing that some of the roughest desert country was between Astroggen and Mysol. It wouldn't be uncommon for a traveling caravan to perish or men to die by themselves…"And this is where you are going to send my friend?" he asked bitterly. He was truly learning to hate this place.

"To the desert? Of course. He will be as safe as anywhere, trust me-"

"Why should I?" Aragorn glared. As far as he was concerned Damrod had presented no reasonable argument to earn his trust. He ignored the way that Damrod's eyes flared with the insult he was just thrown.

"You have no other choice!"

"You would start a civil war!" the ranger accused darkly. His voice was rising, though he hardly realized it.

"Because I have no other choice!"

It was then Mytra stepped between both of them, her lips creating a discreet and thin white line of evident anger. Her eyes were lit with the fire of frustration. "Silence please or people will hear you! And none of us want that!" She sighed heavily and split her rampageous scowl between the two men, perhaps glaring a bit more at Aragorn than her brother. "Have we not wasted enough time? You," she snapped aggressively, pointing at Aragorn. "You don't need to know anymore! It is none of your business! We have precious little time without trying to explain everything anyway!"

Her points were not lost on either Aragorn or Damrod, but especially not on Damrod. He nodded and resumed his look outside the window. "Indeed." He frowned and pushed Aragorn over slightly, ignoring the ranger's feeble protests. 'I should have kept my mouth shut,' he punished himself mentally. Aragorn rolled his eyes and sighed dejectedly before snorting disdainfully but softly.

Glancing out the window again he obviously noted something of importance and in their favor. A tense smile spread across his face and he turned towards Aragorn. "We are leaving now."

Aragorn went forward and suddenly stopped abruptly due to a sharp pain in his chest. Glancing down in shock, he saw the red bandage that he supposed had been white at some point. But he then remembered, stunned, that this was the wound he had first received, the javelin wound, Ah, he had forgotten about it, or rather, dismissed it, because his entire body hurt without relent and so this wound was just one of many. 'Great' he mused sarcastically, eyeing the wound darkly, 'Another one.'

O0O

'Belligerent'. That was the most perfect word Legolas could come up with at the moment to describe himself right now (and he had looked at a lot of words), though 'malicious' would also be entirely appropriate and held a second place. He was absolutely furious. Standing by the meager excuse for a window, covered with burlap nailed haphazardly across the window frame, the Elf glared. He wasn't glaring at anything in particular, just glaring for the sake of glaring. He could hear their voices downstairs, just below him but that only assisted to spike his anger up higher. It was already far from being a healthy anger, he decided grimly, standing and beginning to pace the room.

It was small, Legolas noticed with annoyance and everything was covered with a thick but fine dust. For the love of Elbereth! He could see his footprints in the dust on the floor behind him! He could literally feel the dust clinging to him and turning his hair to look blonde-ish silver. In the corners there were cobwebs and he scowled. 'It is my guess this room hasn't been used in quite some time,' Legolas mused thoughtfully in his head. Shaking it in aggravation, the Elf continued his pacing, following the perimeter of the room very well.

Stopping at a corner, the Elf looked back to where the window was and allowed his scowl to darken. Narrowing his blue eyes, the immortal closed the space between him and the small rectangular window. Taking his hand, his pulled at the burlap, disturbing a spider, which promptly scuttled out and scampered across Legolas' hand, causing the prince to jerk back and flick the creature off. Shuddering at the reminder of the tiny menace's larger and wicked relatives, Legolas resumed his tugging on the burlap shielding the window.

There was a sharp and loud sound as the material tore and dust exploded from its ripped edges, blowing and drifting into Legolas' face. He turned his head aside, waiting for the tiny pieces of debris to settle. Blinking the stuff out of his eyes, Legolas gave one final tug on the poor cloth and found himself staring down about sixty feet. Frowning as he observed the people below, he had known they had gone up stairs but he truly hadn't imagined it was this high up off the ground.

There was no true sunshine at the moment and as a matter of fact, when there was a change of wind rain blew against the prince's pale face. Impassively staring at the small town below, Legolas inclined his head to the side warily as he heard the door to the home he was being held in open. The wind cut into his small prison and whipped his golden hair back behind his shoulders.

Two figures came out, both were cloaked but his Elven eyes easily separated and identified them. One was most certainly Damrod; he was slightly shorter than Aragorn and walked in a manner of a soldier. The other was definitely Estel, because he stumbled and followed wearily behind and he was the only one who seemed to understand how to hide his face in a hood. Frowning, Legolas forced himself not to lean out further for a better and more informative look.

Anger boiled up, seething in his eyes as he felt his blood run scalding hot for a moment and the entire world was blurred in bright red colors. He couldn't believe Aragorn was not permitted to rest and it made him even more furious to be kept away from his friend at a time when they needed each other most. Once more than words 'belligerent' and 'malicious' popped into his mind but this time they refused to leave. Of course he could vaguely understand Damrod's reasoning and so perhaps he was angrier at the situation they were in than he was at the man.

Looking about the dusty room dejectedly, the Elf reasoned that this place wasn't so bad. He wasn't being tortured and it was completely dry. That in itself was a miracle considering the roof was thatched. 'Give it another few minutes and you will hate the place,' Legolas mused to himself. 'Just you wait and see.'

A few minutes passed, more or less quickly all things taken into consideration.

"Very well," he amended out loud. "Try ten minutes." He scowled and sat on an old wooden box to wait out the time, not having much else to do. But he felt himself beginning to twitch with irritation and boredom. His adrenaline was rushing through his veins as he feared for Estel and he simply could not sit still. Pacing was an overused technique but it just might serve him well here.

Getting up, Legolas began to pace around the room, but just for the sake of change and being different, the Elf paced from one corner and across the room to another corner, going diagonally. His footfalls were light, typical of his race, so he had no worries about anyone hearing him down below. And even if they did he didn't truly care but it was a bonus if they simply didn't. Frowning, he stopped his pacing and looked at the window one more. It was small and he was certain that his shoulders would barely fit through it. Anyway, he would have a long fall and after his former time in Dorrag's _un_gracious and most _un_accommodating dungeons he didn't exactly feel up to par for the experience.

He unexpectedly had a suspicious feeling that spiked up in his mind that the walls were closing in on him. Too much time spent in this small space already, that was his conclusion. He had never truly considered himself to be altogether claustrophobic. The Black Box had been an exception because it was _dark_ and full of _knives_, two things he naturally didn't find to be very enjoyable or comfortable. The fact that it had been as close as close got also did not do anything to help him find comfort in tiny spaces.

Shaking off the feeling of being suffocated by the dusty little room, Legolas turned his mind to more important matters, like escape, for instance. "Sweet Eru, this place is creepy!" he breathed to himself as he stared out of the window and at the busy market streets below. People were still selling and working through the rain and mud. He supposed it must be what they would consider to be a 'normal' life and the rain was just a season they must endure. A buzzing to his right caused the Elf to wince as he recognized the sound of an obnoxious and unnecessary misquote come to drive him insane. He might have guessed a place like this would be full of the irritating creatures during the rainy season. Oh yes, this totally figured. "Wonderful. Disease will spread like a wildfire," he grumbled under his breath with a disdainful snort. "It is so typical Estel and I would find this place that is not even slightly amusing."

Great Eru! Estel! If there were diseases to be caught he was certain that knowing Aragorn's luck the ranger would find the most deadly of them all. He was in no condition to battle such an illness due to his fatigue! Legolas felt panic rising in his heart, feeding the fire that he felt consuming his insides. He was not going to be a piece for these people to use and play with him in whatever way they wanted! And he wasn't going to let Aragorn be one either.

He caught himself starting for the open window and then he stopped himself. 'Think before you act, you idiot,' he chided himself with an inward slap. It would be much smarter to wait until dark. But he knew there was a chance that it would be too late by then and that the soldiers would be here. Suddenly, something rising in the wind and twisting, curling and billowing caught his eyes. A dark mass, a black cloud. Ah, it was smoke.

But where was the smoke coming from? Legolas wasn't sure but he knew it was out of sight for the men, even his Elven eyes had slight trouble seeing it. Narrowing the blue orbs so he could get a better look but being careful not to stick his head out the window for people to see him, the Elf noticed a line of men marching. Soldiers? He would bet his life on it, unfortunately that was probably a more literal statement than he was comfortable with. If these were the soldiers coming to occupy this down…Astroggen it was called -then why were they over burning whatever city that might be?

Curious, he didn't recall Damrod mentioning a city existing over that way. Blinking to clear his vision from a raindrop that had found its way into his eye, the Elf took a second look and realized this town lived literally in the shadow of Sygul, their capital. So what were Haradrim soldiers doing leveling a town so near their capital city? He had heard they were insane but even he had given them enough credit that they wouldn't burn their own country. Dorrag was a lunatic, Legolas reminded himself tiredly. He had come to that conclusion a long time ago and this only proved to invigorate his theory.

Now that he got a closer look he noticed the soldiers were heading for Sygul, though Legolas couldn't imagine why. Unless this was the detachment ordered to come and occupy Astroggen and they were first stopping at Sygul for further instruction. A sinking feeling began to develop in his stomach and he knew he had to get he and Aragorn out of here before the city was taken. He knew it was going to be burned to the ground or at least pillaged and scourged for his whereabouts. Legolas didn't know much about what was going on now but he knew he definitely didn't want to fall into their hands again, especially since he didn't imagine Dorrag would appreciate the cleverness behind the escape the way he did.

Feeling his emotions all penned up inside, the Elf looked for something to kick and was truly disappointed when he didn't find anything that he could send sailing across the room without creating a loud crashing noise. But the wall did look like something he could kick to his heart's content. Unfortunately he knew it would create a strange and deep echo. Sighing, he settled for glaring at everything as if it was its entire fault.

Thunder rumbled once more and Legolas counted that as being the fifth rumble he had heard these past few minutes. He felt the entire house he was in shake and he guessed that went all the way down to its foundation. Lightning lit up the sky radiantly and Legolas felt himself placing his hands on his ears as old memories came back. His hearing loss hadn't been so long ago and he hadn't entirely gotten over the hopeless feeling it had brought up inside that had frightened him to no end.

More lightning lit up the sky and Legolas reasoned. He would have liked to think he was reasonably safe, but all things considered he was not. He was up in a tall house on the highest floor and they were in the middle of a desert that was largely deprived of trees. Lightning took the quickest path to the ground and right now houses were the quickest of paths. That didn't leave him with a very comfortable feeling and going over to the far corner of the room he submitted himself to sitting with his knees drawn up to his chin so he could rest his head on them. As much as he hated to admit it, since those horrible nights in the dark dungeons during storms and that horrible incident in the battle that had left him temporarily deaf, Legolas felt anxiety rise in his throat when a storm struck.

He knew it was an irrational fear and had no basis, but he simply could not help it and he wished Aragorn were here to talk to, but all he had was himself. Shivering as he saw the evening coming around the flapping burlap that half covered the tiny window, Legolas once again felt a stab of loneliness and homesickness. If the words 'belligerent' and 'malicious' had described him before, adding 'wretched' to the mix now lengthened the growing list.

Deciding rather abruptly that brooding was doing absolutely nothing for him, Legolas went to the window and gazed out dryly, not expecting to see anything significant. Blinking vapidly, the Elf noticed that he could no longer see the troupes of Dorrag's. Knowing full well that this was probably not a _good_ thing, Legolas used his keen eyesight typical of his race to try and discover where they had gotten to but the guessed they were already within the walls of Sygul. Turning his eyes towards the fire he had seen burning, he saw it was burning low and nearly out, the rain was putting an end to it.

O0O0O0O0O0O

Cortanyar looked at his sword, well more accurately his reflection in the sword. Smiling he sheathed the blade happily before mumbling, "we'll see that Elf and ranger elude _me_. Darcíl was a fool." Pulling at his new uniform, the man felt strangely proud having taken Darcíl's place and losing that annoying subservient Sarchel. Things were going well so far, actually better than he had ever thought. If this kept up he would be able to control nearly everything in no time at all.

Hearing footsteps he turned around quickly to see Dorrag standing there calmly but with an agitated look in his eyes. From past experience, Cortanyar knew that expression worn by the Haradrim prince hardly meant anything resembling good tidings. He gave a curt bow out of reverence that he didn't entirely feel. Smiling deceptively, the new captain inquired appropriately, "my lord?"

Dorrag frowned and said all too calmly," the troupes are here now. You know what I want done, correct?" He took off his signet ring and fingered it dryly as he spoke to the Haradrim captain. A malicious smile spread across his face as he heard the words he had hoped to hear.

"Kill the ranger, bring back his head and take the Elf alive then break his legs," he said, purposefully not mentioning extracting the immortal's vocal cords. It wasn't that he wouldn't find that enjoyable but he had more important things on his mind at the moment. He wanted to know more about the Elves and an Elf that couldn't speak wasn't exactly going to cause him to benefit in anyway. Maybe after the blonde rat told him all he needed _then_ he would take pleasure in removing those annoying vocal cords. It was all he could do to put a certain and abrupt halt to a smile that was tugging tenaciously at the corners of his lips. Annoying things, smiles.

Dorrag nodded but then said, "And don't break his legs. I am having a scaffolding erected in front of the town gates. I want him to be able to walk up it to meet his death." He wanted to see the Elf trembling in terror and his knees shaking before he decapitated him. He didn't fully expect that to happen right away but before that Elf walked the stairs to the platform he would learn to live in terror, if only for a brief time. This was one thing Dorrag had promised would happen.

"What of the village afterwards?" the ex-healer asked with a wicked grin that he forgot to hide or didn't care to prevent it.

Dorrag scowled darkly and with annoyance. He knew far better than to leave these matters to the soldiers. They were impulsive and made rash decisions. Idiots! If he left things to them he wouldn't have a country left! The morons would destroy everything and not think twice. There were some cases when he really would not mind but at the moment he wanted Astroggen in one piece. It made him wish that Darcíl had not turned traitor. However, he wanted to the town to suffer greatly if they had aided the escapees. "Burn their crops and pillage their stores! Let them starve for their treason!" he commanded gruffly to Cortanyar.

"Do not those who turn traitor deserve to die a traitor's death?" Cortanyar asked submissively while seeking his lord's approval. His eyes flashed and a blood lust came creeping into the dark and shallow depths. He closed his hands nervously and clenched them as Dorrag gave him the coldest look he had ever seen on anyone.

"You will find out if you disobey me, _captain_," warned Dorrag, becoming easily angered and annoyed with the questions. "I _do_ want a country left when you are finished."

"You know, my lord, to get the Elf I my have to take…extreme measures. Things that may be… destructive," Cortanyar said, looking his liege carefully in the eye to calibrate his reaction. "I may have to use some methods that might be considered disputable..." his voice trailed off quietly.

"Captain, do what you believe is necessary but I want that town standing in the end! Am I understood or do I need to speak planer?" Dorrag asked testily. He was not about to let himself be manipulated by his new captain. Cortanyar was ambitious but he would keep him under perfect control and if he had to he would eliminate him. Cortanyar wasn't necessary to him to achieve his goals and the sooner he knew that the sooner he would cooperate.

"Very well, my lord." Cortanyar knew better than to argue and he asked calmly, "am I free to go?" He stood perfectly erect, his hands to his sides. His face seemed submissive but inside he was wondering where the perfect place would be to skewer the prince with a javelin.

"Indeed, captain," Dorrag allowed cautiously, his eyes watching the ex-healer's every move with verbatim. "But one more thing. Send part of your detachment to Mysol. Occupy it."

"Yes, my lord."

O0O0O0O0O0O

Darcíl opened his eyes and the first thing he realized was that everything was coated in grey and black. "Ash", he commented impassively, blinking the stuff away form his eyes and swirling them to look about him. He noticed the smoldering building and the charred fences immediately. Everything was like a gutted back skeleton and it made him shiver. It sent shivers down his spine. Rising very slowly as he came to the realization that every muscle in his body ached, the man coughed as he inhaled some more smoke.

His throat felt burned and like fire was eating the lining of his chest away. Everything seemed hazy and there was no light, he could hardly see anything that was even directly in front of him. It must be night. A slight glow from the embers of the house frame still quietly and frugally burning.

Breathing coming heavily now in labored gasps, Darcíl stumbled forward and then began to run towards what was left of the town. He couldn't see much else but the ground at his feet was white with what looked like snow but was purely white ash from the great burning of the village.

Everything was like a nightmare and he couldn't escape it anyway he turned. It was all entirely too real and unable to be altered. But he just could not believe that his family was dead and gone. A pain started in his chest as he stumbled along and it seemed to spread through every fiber of his being, shattering him like glass. Never in his life had he truly experienced a broken heart and now he knew what the legendary pain felt like. It coursed through him with an unmatched fervor and it felt like his heart had been taken out and stomped on, fracturing into too many pieces to count and put back together.

Tripping over a charred and practically invisible piece of fence, the man fell to his knees where the town should have been. But all he found around him was the skeletal structures of houses, incinerated and exposed for the world to see. They were empty and nothing was left. He heard no voices and everything was eerily quiet save for in a few places a pop could be heard as the flames still continued in small handfuls, eating more wood to satisfy their relentless lust.

Grabbing a handful of hot white ash he let it sift through his fingers and tears pricked under his eyelids. His wife and children were gone…forever. He had burned many villages in his time and all in the name of Dorrag but for the first time he was getting a taste of what he had all too often dealt out. Banging his fist on the ground in his anguish not caring about the tiny pebbles that lacerated it, the ex-captain condemned himself and his actions mercilessly. "You were an idiot to think your family alone would escape! Now you are paying for it!"

Suddenly his tirade stopped and he looked blankly at the ground with dead eyes, unbelieving. Closing the dark orbs, he vowed he would reopen them and discover this all was a bad dream, a horrible and wicked dream that would dissipate as soon as his eyelids parted. But when they finally did separate his view of the world was the same and the rain that poured down, putting out the fires almost instantly clumped the ash.

He felt the rain but didn't move, he just hung his head helplessly and watched his hands holding the now grey ash that was wet and in clumps. Rubbing it between his fingers, he held all that was left of his life and his family. He couldn't believe that his had actually transpired. If someone had told him that an oliphaunt had been dancing and drinking strong beer he would have believed that more than he would this.

Lightning flashed, setting everything against a purple-white background for a few minutes and illuminating the destruction that looked worse than horrific.

Then one thought filled his mind. 'Someone will pay for this!' He didn't know how he would do it but he would kill Dorrag, he would kill him. 'Decapitation might not be a bad start' he mused mentally. 'And after that a spear through his black heart might be an _improvement_ as well.' Truly, Dorrag was one of those people who were greatly improved by death.

It was now completely evident that hiding and wishing things were different wasn't going to do anyone any good anymore, as a matter of fact it never had. The Haradrim captain had enough good sense left to know that if he didn't take a stand then he was one more person aiding Dorrag in his cruelty and wanton destruction. And that was something, he decided emphatically, that he would _never_ do. He would rather go down fighting him with all he possessed than by being hunted and killed like a criminal. Indeed, Darcíl would much rather die as a warrior.

Well, he remembered with a wry smile, his entire family wasn't dead. Damrod was still alive with Mytra somewhere and as far as he knew his nephew was alive. He knew that after Mytra's husband was killed that out of custom, Damrod, being the good brother, had taken her and her son in. Feeling very detached his thoughts suddenly drifted back to that Elf and ranger and he wondered absentmindedly if they were still alive.

Reason stated that they were still alive or at least not captured. If they were recaptured he would know by now. That Elf would be walking a scaffolding and everyone in the kingdom would know. Not only that, his brother would be dead. Damrod was a rebel rouser and if no one else other than that blonde Elf, Dorrag wanted Damrod's head. Oh, he didn't know Damrod except for his name or Dorrag would have killed him a long time ago, of that Darcíl was sure. Being a twin did have its downsides.

He would have to start trying to get to Astroggen where he knew his brother lived along with most other rebels. But he didn't know why he referred to them as rebels when he himself could easily be considered the same. A more accurate description of them would be 'comrades in arms'. Having killed the horse by breaking its wind and most likely its neck, he had no idea how he was going to get to Astroggen in any good time. Wanting to get up but unable to draw himself from this place that had once been his hometown the man just remained on his knees, feeling the rain to beat on his back rhythmically.

O0O0O0O

'Ah, and here we are at the Old Ford,' Elrond took due note of their surroundings. He turned to his sons, who were glaring at the choppy looking cold waters. It looked anything but calm to them and they looked as though they expected it to fill with snakes and rise to strangle them. "Here we must say farewell to Lord Glorfindel, I believe." His gaze drifted to look at his friend expectantly.

Glorfindel grimaced and looked uneasy. "I am not sure that this is a good idea, my friend," he whispered to Elrond nervously. He wanted to go and see what was transpiring in Lothlorien but not at the cost of leaving his lord and his lord's sons in danger by themselves. He would rather stick by their sides and anyway, he wasn't overly thrilled about having to put up with Haldir. He considered himself a gentle Elf by most means but when Haldir was around he was more obnoxious than Lord Erestor was.

"Glorfindel," Elrond placed a hand on his friend's shoulder. "We are within a day's ride to Mirkwood at the least, two days at most," he assured the golden-haired Elf calmly. "There isn't all that much that could possibly go wrong."

"Lord Elrond, you know as well as do I that Dol Guldur has grown impossible and unpredictable…downright bold and dangerous!" Glorfindel attempted to reason with his friend. "I would hate to leave you with one less person if an orc horde should descend upon you. And there are the giant spiders-"

"And you over react!" Elrond concluded grimly. "Would I send you away if I thought I needed you? Truly needed you?" The dark-haired Elf narrowed his dark grey eyes to look into Glorfindel's blue one's which were softened with grave concern and alarm.

Elladan and Elrohir held their tongues for the moment, watching their father and Glorfindel's exchange.

"I am going to help you across the ford in any case and my mind is firmly made in that regard," he said strongly, narrowing own eyes now and unconsciously hardening them into blue determined stones. His lips formed a thin line as he pressed them together. "Do not tell me that you and our sons will not need help crossing the river. It has grown both deeper and swifter."

Elrond looked at the waters that were looking anything but calm and cooperative. Funny, it used to be so shallow and tranquil here, as far as he remembered. But Mirkwood and her borders were always changing and so he knew he shouldn't be entirely surprised. He chuckled softly to himself when he thought of Legolas crossing this ford every few months to come on a visit to Rivendell. Legolas…that Elf-prince was one of the most tenacious creatures he had ever had the strange fortune of meeting. "It has but I am sure we can manage-"

"Lord Elrond-" Glorfindel started to protest. Elrond held his hand up for silence.

"I know, your mind is made up," the Lord of Rivendell finished with a sigh that sounded anything but happy. Indeed, right now he was far from a happy Elf. His heart was still heavy and though the fresh air and stars had done him good he could feel himself losing Vilya. He didn't like to think about what Imladris looked like right now and he didn't like to think of Erestor having to handle it by himself now either. The poor counselor was probably having fits.

Looking at Glorfindel with a raised brow he asked incredulously, "and how are you going to help? You would be in the same position we are in." His doubt was insultingly evident.

"I will find a way…" his voice trailed off, as he thought hard to think of a way he would truly be of service.

"Go to Lorien, Glorfindel," Elrond advised, staring into his friend's eyes. "I will be well and so will the twins, I promise mellon nin."

Glorfindel sighed and turned Asfaloth towards Lorien reluctantly. Facing the direction of the Golden Wood, the Balrog-Slayer muttered, "this is probably a mistake on my part." He looked ahead and his Elven eyes saw the Gladden River in the Southern distance.

"I do not think so," Elrond spoke sagely, watching his friend's back. "We all do what we have to do, Glorfindel, and those actions are what justifies the ends."

Glorfindel looked West, into the setting sun and asked softly, "so you mean to cross the ford right now, at dusk?" He looked over his shoulder anxiously. Something just didn't feel right. He felt he was going to be sorely needed some time soon but he couldn't tell why or when exactly. That part was cloudy to him covered in an ominous and inescapable mist that he cursed.

"I do," Elrond answered quietly. "Everything will be fine in the end." He looked back at his sons, who were watching impassively and for once, quietly. His grey eyes were perfectly calm. "Galadriel may have tiding we need to hear, each day you are later in getting their you lessen our chances of using her knowledge to our benefit and the benefit of those we have lost."

Glorfindel nodded. 'You know he is right, but you still can't stand yourself for leaving, you mixed up idiot,' he chided himself harshly. He spun Asfaloth around so he could face his friend. The wind whipped the Elves' long hair around and against the night sky to the south, Glorfindel's silhouette looked tall and powerful. "Very well, but be careful, all of you."

Elrohir snorted softly and Elladan smiled innocently before voicing, "are we not always?"

Glorfindel cast the twins a withering and long-suffering expression before declaring, "we could host that debate here for the next millennia at least!"

The retort from Elrohir was so typical it that those sort of things didn't even grate on Glorfindel's nerves anymore. "Yes, but Legolas might not be too happy about _that_." And Glorfindel had to admit that honestly, Legolas would be far from a happy or amused Elf. Indeed, he would be far form happy himself.

Elrond smiled and rode his horse along side Glorfindel's, clasping hands with his friend. "Namárie and take care!" He looked into the blue eyes that smiled softly back at him. "Tell Arwen I love her."

"I will, my friend. My Elbereth shine her stars on your path," Glorfindel spoke his farewell softly. He gave one last nod before spurring Asfaloth in the direction of the Gladden River and towards Lothlorien. The animal obediently went into a smooth canter that left Elrond and the twins far behind in seconds.

Elrond watched his friend leave dispiritedly before he turned back to his sons. 'Now how to get them across the ford in one piece', he mused thoughtfully to himself. 'This is going to be a challenge. It is bad enough at the ford of Bruinen.'

Elladan already had his horse at the edge was preparing to convince the animal the water was not going to attack it. But that was going to be a hard thing to do, considering he wasn't sure that it wasn't looking to devour a few Elves and a random horse. It looked icy and devious, two characteristics he decided immediately that he didn't like water to have As a matter of fact, he would rather water didn't have characteristics at all.

Elrohir glanced at Elladan with a long-suffering expression before he asked in a low voice, "brother, what is on your mind?"

"The water at the moment. It looks devious, Elrohir." Elladan's eyed bored into it, as they tried to see into its depths. "I think the horses will have to swim it," he commented out loud. "And we will be lucky if we don't have to swim it as well."

"How is _water_ devious, Elladan?" asked Elrohir, amused and slightly confused with his brother's prospective. "But I agree, it looks deep and rough." He stared into it morosely; not liking the idea of having to cross it at all but knowing there was no other option. They must have done it at least two dozen times before but somehow now it was different and he didn't know how. That disturbed him and he looked back at Elladan.

"Do you sense something not quite…right?" he asked quietly but with alarm in his voice. His eyes then looked across the shore to where Elrond was looking intently. "Ada?" he asked softly, moving his horse to his father's side and following the elder Elf's eyes.

"This would be the perfect spot for orcs," Elrond said bluntly as he watched the opposite shore. "They could waylay travelers now that the Elves have other troubles and cannot keep the ford."

"And Legolas and I are going to have a long talk about that, believe me," Elladan voiced from where he sat on his horse, still along the water's edge. The creature he rode looked far form pleased with everything that was transpiring and looked nervously across the river.

"And what good will that do?" Elrond asked with an incredulous air. "The Wood-Elves have their troubles, as do we." He sighed mentally. There were orcs somewhere out there, he just knew it. This was just the sort of night they would pick too, dark and moonless. It was not totally night yet but he didn't feel entirely safe venturing across the ford now that it was this dark and the orcs had no sunlight to fear. "Hopefully the river will separate us for the night," he said wistfully, turning his horse away from it and wandering more inland.

Elladan and Elrohir exchanged looks and then decided to follow their father's example. They were anxious to get to Legolas and hear news from him about Estel, but they weren't suicidal. An attack by orcs in the dark could spell 'disaster' with a capital 'D' and they all three knew it. But it hurt that they were so close and yet so far. It truly did and there was nothing they could do about it.

It was enough to make their stomachs sick. A weight was on their shoulders and though it was invisible to others it was more than apparent to them. They could tell from the way their father hung his shoulders, that he was feeling the burden as well and that hurt them a little deeper.

**TBC…Well, not much of an evil cliffie. Sadly, we don't foresee another cruel one for another chapter. **

**Please review! Pretty please! **


	20. Last The Night

_**CHAPTER TWENTY**_

Last the Night 

'Smoke' Aragorn said as they walked into the back door of a bar. 'Not that his is anything new.' He sighed inwardly as he glanced morbidly about the room he was lead into by Damrod who made it more than obvious he knew where he was going. This room, Aragorn noted emotionlessly, was just beyond the kitchen and not yet in the common room. But that was typical of a room meant for private use.

But here is where it became completely different. Aragorn smiled dryly as he thought of the oddity and the absurdity of it. It had a second door beneath you -a trap door. But it was no ordinary trap door either and was a bit craftier than he had given these people credit for.

Most trap doors opened up from the floorboards but this one definitely had its own charm. It opened up from the bottom of the fireplace, Aragorn observed darkly. 'I will probably suffocate from smoke inhalation,' the more annoying and less optimistic part of his mind felt obligated to remind him. He reluctantly placed a single foot on the first stone step. 'Ah, more stairs.' His weary body was beginning to loathe stairs more than he had ever thought one could loathe a _non-living_ object.

One step further and he felt the cold air of the tunnel slap his face, quite literally and he jerked back as his wounds tensed and pain coursed through his system. Frowning, he watched Damrod descend a few more steps before the one of the barkeep that was with them asked in a way that grated on Aragorn's nerves, "afraid of the dark, ranger?"

Aragorn resisted rolling his dramatically and tried his best to count to ten before responding. "No, not really. But after being tortured within the very inch of my life I think that my body is weary of being placed in the dark where it is cold and my wounds and muscles grow stiff and sore." If he hadn't been in such a precarious situation he might have been even angrier.

The fat barkeeper merely raised an eyebrow before pushing Aragorn forward slightly more. "Whatever, just get walking, would you please?"

Aragorn cast the man a withering glare and then turned back to he steps, slowly going lower into the miserable dark, dank place. Snorting in aggravation at the outright rudeness and insensitivity of this corpulent barkeeper, the ranger muttered, "good evening to you too, grouchy."

"Something you would like to say, ranger?" asked the barman again, his green eyes flashing in annoyance. The tapster obviously was not pleased with having a Gondorian ranger in _his_ bar, moreover _hiding_ the said ranger in his bar.

"Not really, no," Aragorn answered gruffly, as he glared daggers at the stone steps about his feet, rather than turning around for fear that if he saw that man's face he would want to wipe that smirk right off. 'Prig,' Aragorn grumbled mentally.

He had came to the conclusion that he didn't like these people a long time ago. It wasn't that one or two of them weren't kind here and there but they seemed by nature to be self-fish and center-minded. He was being used as a piece in a game he didn't want to be a part of. All he wanted was to go home. If the Haradrim wanted to fight amongst themselves then they could as far as he was concerned. It kept them off Gondor's back.

Reaching the final step, he watched curiously as Damrod turned around, spinning on his heel, to look and see how he had faired as he went down the stairs. The other man smiled and said quietly, "well I see you made it down the stairs alive."

Aragorn gave the man the most annoyed look he could come up with. "Your concern is touching." He feltthe barkeeper's hand come to rest rather strongly on his shoulder. He decided almost immediately that he was not comfortable with the forcefulness of the man's grip. He tried to shrug it off but unfortunately, and much to his displeasure and alarm, he could not shake the hand free. As a matter of fact, he seemed to feel it distinctly tighten. 'Ah, this cannot be good. Eru, what are they doing to Legolas?' he asked himself silently.

'You know he is probably in trouble, as usual,' another annoying voice entered his head impassively. And Aragorn had to agree.

Damrod looked around nervously, if that were possible, before asking in a falsely jovial voice, "well how do you like these accommodations?" He held his arms out about him, gesturing to the tiny room that couldn't possibly be larger than eight feet by six feet. And it smelled dank, Aragorn noted gloomily.

"What is going on?" Aragorn asked, deciding to go ahead and simply cut through the chase, not desiring to play a cordial game that only wasted time. He narrowed his eyes indignantly whilst trying to shake off the barkeeper's hand once more and grimacing mentally in irritation when it refused to be moved out of place. His eyebrows came together, as his expression became hostile looking as he stared Damrod down.

"This is the deal ranger," Damrod began as the barkeeper's grip tightened and Aragorn glanced over his shoulder, glaring darkly. But the corpulent man simply dragged Aragorn back and slammed him up against the wall.

The ranger worked to keep the surprise off of his face as he watched the two other men press in closer to him, keeping him firmly against the uncomfortable, cold stone wall that was somewhat damp. Come to think of it, the floor wasn't overly dry either, but it was sandy and absorbed the water that flowed in rather easily.

"You will not leave here for anything, understood?" he narrowed his eyes for emphasis, his breath was hot and spongy on his cheek and Aragorn turned his head away abruptly. Seeing Aragorn's indignant expression, the man sneered, "unless you would want some punishment to befall your little friend."

"I thought you needed him alive?" Aragorn asked, startled at the threat that he never expected to receive.

"We can come up with some very painful punishments that won't kill Lindir, trust us," he advised grimly as he gazed into Aragorn's dark, stormy looking silver eyes. They looked as hard as cold iron mingled with ice water from the deepest and coldest wells of the earth. "Whatever you do, he will pay and vise versa, understood?" Damrod fought the urge to shiver as, much to his surprise and dismay, the eyes of the ranger turned a shade colder and seemed to grow more intense and deep as they bored into his.

"This is unfair!" Aragorn protested and attempted to break free but the barkeeper held his back firmly with one hand and Aragorn supposed a hobbit could hold him back at the moment. "You cannot do this-"

"But that is where you are wrong. I can and am. Listen to me, ranger, I am completely serious, do not test me. If you need anything, Gelion will check in on you every now and then," Damrod assured; gesturing at the bartender, who glared grimly at Aragorn and looked anything but sympathetic, accommodating or helpful. And that must be an understatement, Aragorn realized as he glanced wearily at Gelion.

Thunder rumbled overhead and all in the tiny room looked up. "This is where we leave you, ranger."

"What are you going to do with Lindir?" Aragorn asked quietly. He felt the color drain from his face as he felt a dread gathering in the very crux of his stomach. He hoped Legolas decided to be cooperative, for his own sake he truly did. Oh, he would supposedly suffer the consequences for Legolas' actions, which was very frustrating, but Legolas would probably get knocked around a bit regardless. He was an Elf and they were a proud and mighty people. To have one bound and at their mercy amused most people and they often took complete advantage of it.

"We cannot tell you, this is on a need-to-know basis and-"

"I need to know," Aragorn objected angrily, his temper flaring.

"If you fall into the hands of Dorrag's men, then we don't want you to be able to tell them anything. What you don't know, you can't tell," finished Damrod as he stepped away. He frowned, "they will be here in a couple of hours."

Aragorn snorted angrily and looked away as he felt himself turning bitter. They were all going to die and there was no use denying it. He had promised to get Legolas home but now it looked as though that wasn't going to happen. He didn't even have the honor and privilege of dying by Legolas' side, they were completely separated. Truly, they had never gotten to say farewell to one another and who knew if they would see each other one the other side since the fate of men was sundered from the fate of the Elves? Anger boiled and Aragorn cast one dark, perfectly sinister glower, at the back of the two men, boring his eyes through them.

Damrod glanced at Gelion as they both felt the disturbing and haunting sense of Aragorn's piercing eyes running them through with a malice. Climbing the stairs as quickly as they were able without tripping over their own feet, both of the men slammed the door and Aragorn grimaced as everything went completely black.

O0O0O0O0O0O

Sighing, Legolas leaned his head back against the wall wearily. He was far form being a happy Elf and his patience was wearing dangerously thin. It was now dark in the room with night upon them but every now and then it was lit dimly by a radiant streak of lightning that slashed through the sky, slamming into the earth. A loud clap of thunder or a long lasting and low rumble would follow and Legolas would close his eyes as he imagined himself anywhere else.

He was lonely and depressed but also bored, more bored than he had been in years. And that included his time spent in some of the most boring meetings in his memory, which reached considerably back. He had counted cobwebs, and that had been interesting at first, observing some annoyingly happy spiders crawling and scheming inside their self-made sticky little homes. But he soon grew bored with watched the Arachnids during brief flashes of lightning and he began to give himself the creeps when they wouldn't be in the same spot as before and he couldn't find them. So naturally he decided it was best not to think about them.

Changing the subject there was something else he thought was not too appealing. The rain had brought in the rats as they sought shelter, and he could here them scampering around and in the rafters just above his head. If the dark with spiders wasn't horrible enough, the dark with spiders and _rats_ was much worse, he decided gloomily.

Shifting his weight as he felt his legs going numb from sitting in the same position for entirely too long, Legolas thought that he needed to get up and get his blood moving. Trying to rise he found that his joints were more than extremely stiff and his wounds felt very sore. Gingerly touching the cuts that graced his chest in red streaks crusted over as they healed, he found that more than one of them was overly warm to the touch. They were feverish. 'Splendid,' the Wood-Elf thought despondently. 'An infection. This is just what I need.'

Withdrawing his hand, he sighed and looked towards the window dejectedly as the lightning blew up the sky and provided a meager amount of light that lasted for an insufficient partial second. He was about to turn away from the window when something, little lights flickering, caught his attention. Narrowing his blue eyes in curiosity and slight alarm, he watched them without moving from where he was standing. They were all like individual, tiny orange fire all in the formation of a rectangle with the exception of a few stragglers and a few leaders. Campfires didn't move, he told himself inwardly as he observed them coming closer, or least it appeared they were.

He grimaced when he noticed that they were splitting into two groups. Fires didn't do that as a general rule, at least not by themselves. These were soldiers, Legolas realized with a sickening sense of dread mounting in his stomach. But what he could not understand is why the entire detachment wasn't simply coming to obliterate Astroggen. From what the man…Damrod had said, Mysol was nearby. But he had thought that Mysol wasn't an objective of Dorrag's. But trying to understand Dorrag's diluted train of thought was beyond him and he honestly didn't entirely want to.

But if the soldiers were where they were now, then that meant they wold be here in less than two hours. Where was Aragorn? What had they done with his friend! Eru, he hoped he was hidden away somewhere safe. Anger burned in his heart and looking out the window as he watched the soldiers coming from the Haradrim capital of Sygul, Legolas let the wind whip his hair about his face.

Leaning out the window he looked into the street, he saw the women were coming out, with a meager amount of possessions in their arms, dragging their children after them. Fear began to creep over him and all his muscles tense and his skin crawl as he realized the mortal danger they were all in. The women were fleeing with their children and all things precious.

There was a strange noise, he heard and pulled himself back from the window as though he was half in a trance. The disquiet and fanfare was coming from beyond the door and it was far too loud to be rats. Having the distinct and rather horrible feeling sinking in his gut, the Elf froze as he realized they were steps, steps as men were coming up. He doubted they had come to welcome him into Harad with a party and honey-cakes along with a throng of good-wishes. He smiled inwardly for no real reason while his face remained uncommonly callous and sedated.

He could feel his hands becoming sweaty in he palms, as he grew more nervous. Gripped by fear and slight quandary, he turned back to the window and looked at the soldiers coming. Lightening lit up the sky and he felt himself sink to the floor as his Elven eyes saw an Oliphaunt or two traveling with the warriors fresh out of Sygul, but they seemed to be traveling with the detachment heading in the direction of Mysol. Looking down during another flash of lightning, the Elven Prince realized that he was not on his knees and hadn't sank but that he must have felt his heart slip right down to his toes. 'That is the second time at least it has done this!' he mused to himself. It was a feeling that gave him the shivers and he shuddered unstoppably.

Legolas felt his heart thudding wildly in his chest as though it was trying to escape the cage of his ribs, hearing the people coming up the stars. What did they want with him? Where had they taken Aragorn? If Dorrag's forces captured Aragorn he would be tortured and then most definitely killed! Legolas narrowed his eyes as he forced his heart to calm down. He wasn't going to leave Aragorn and allow himself to be taken somewhere else.

An annoying voice said cynically, 'you can't fit through that window, fool!'

But a second voice murmured through his head insanely, 'of course you can, just not without breaking something.'

Legolas shook his head and watched with the flash of lightning as the doorknob slowly turned, as it was unlocked. Backstepping towards the window, Legolas prepared himself to have to leap out of it. His eyes grew in alarm when Mytra came rushing in with her cloak on, with her was Damrod and with him were two more men. Immediately seeing the lengths of rope they carried and then noticing the gag, Legolas bit out as calmly as he could, "no."

"Lindir you are going to go with the women and the children to Mysol. Don't make us hurt you, alright?" Damrod said as he stepped closer and was about to grab one of Legolas' wrists. Legolas yanked it away roughly with a brutal glare before the man got one finger to touch it. He wasn't going to voluntarily let any of them lay a hand on him.

"I will not be bound and I absolutely refuse to leave!" he protested loudly, not caring who heard. Mytra looked firm in the light to the lantern. Her face seemed to be carved of stone and her eyes looked like hard and cold gems set in the smooth surface of a stone as they caught the light of the torch and glittered maliciously. "Now if you will excuse me, I must find my friend."

Damrod snorted incredulously as he watched the Elf shift further away form them and the bonds to be set. "You can't get past us, Lindir. Now come along nicely, please."

"Oh I don't mean to get past you at all," the Elf said smoothly and quite honestly as he backed nearer to the window. The Elven Prince felt a cold and calculating smile coming to his lips as he realized what he was about to do was going to come as a complete shock to these people. He was going to enjoy the last few seconds when he would see the look on their faces before he fell the entire sixty feet to the streets below.

"Lindir, don't do something incredibly stupid," Damrod warned. "You cannot fit through that window and the fall alone would kill you. Please, just come with us." He stepped closer and Legolas jerked back in a repulsed and annoyed fashion. Damrod glared and grabbed one of Legolas' wrists, calling behind him for support from the men to his rear, which gladly came forward to lend their comrade a hand.

Legolas felt frustration and fear giving him a new strength. But he found himself dragged backwards so he was pinned against Damrod's chest with his head held by an arm across his neck, choking him slightly and getting tighter the more he struggled. His hands were being pulled in front and he could feel the rough snake-like hemp touching the newly healed skin. Deciding it was now or never, the Elf pulled one arm back away form the bonds and then jerked if forward in one fluent motion before ramming it back as hard as he was able into Damrod's defenseless stomach.

The man was caught off guard and with a grunt he released the Elf who didn't stop the think but made a break for the meager excuse for a window. The men were too shocked to do anything to restrain the fighting Elf and actually did their best to get out of his way. As far as they were concerned he was insane and it might be unhealthy to get too close. A wild light was in his eyes and when the lightning flash and cast a purple-white light on him he looked perfectly sinister and menacing.

Legolas climbed so that he was ready to drop out of the window, his body hardly fitting between the sides of the opening. Smiling back at the men as coldly as if it were a frosty morning in February, the Elf said, "I am no mindless piece to be pushed around on your game board."

With those last words, Legolas shoved himself off the window, closing his eyes as he fell. To his dismay he felt the sickening feeling like his stomach was still up in the windowsill and was trying to catch up with him. Grimacing in slight fear of pain to come, he anticipated the fall to the ground. The wind allowed his golden hair to float about him even as the rain soaked it and began to plaster it to his body in strands.

So this is what falling feels like? Interesting…

His thoughts were interrupted when he heard someone give a soft grunt and realized that it had been himself who had groaned as his body came in contact with the ground. But then he noticed it was far too spongy and soft and besides that he felt absolutely no pain. He didn't know a great deal about falls and impacts but he had supposed he would feel some pain and the street was hard dirt not soft and …sweet smelling. Whatever he was lying sprawled in was also an itchy substance that was prickly but felt familiar.

Daring himself to open his eyes he realized it was a cart of straw that had been rolling down the street, which explained why he still felt like he was moving. Looking up to where the window was he didn't see Damrod or anyone else looking out and frowned. He doubted they were simply giving up, Damrod seemed too stubborn for that. Entirely too stubborn.

His suspicions were proved all too true when he head a loud bang and the door to Mytra's home flung open.

Pressing himself into the straw and trying to shrink, Legolas prayed no one would discover him whom he didn't want to be discovered by. Feeling the cart speedup as chaos assimilated into the crowds of people thanks to the soldiers that were advancing ever nearer, Legolas knew he was going to have to get off. Knowing he had to get off was the easy part. Knowing where and how to get off was the difficult part.

But his decision was made for him when the cart took an extremely harsh turn and tipped nearly parallel to the ground, knocking out its accidental and unknown passenger. Legolas tumbled into the open road and winced as his wounds burst and his cracked ribs felt eh hard and sharp rocks jab him and create new and harsh bruises to add to the other ones that were just beginning to heal.

The Elf tried to scramble up but people could not see him and someone laid a heavy kick directly on top of a cracked rib, causing him to sink back to the earth in pain. Collapsing in the street he thought for certain someone would run him over with cart, being unable to see him in the dark. Curling in one himself he knew he had to get out of the road and up into the shadows between the buildings.

People rushed past and one was unfortunate and clumsy enough to trip over the prone Elf and fell with a curse. Legolas quickly crawled further away so he was out of kicking range and was about to get up when a cart came by loudly so he had some warning, but it still managed to catch him in the hip, slamming him the earth again. Elbereth! It was a stampede! Feeling the sharp pain running along his right side, Legolas feared he had broken something. Wincing, he forced himself to stand and then he froze as he wondered where he should run.

Eru! The darkness hid everything from his sight and the sounds came from all around as people panicked! 'Of course they wouldn't possess lanterns!' the more cynical part of his brain scoffed bitterly and in some disappointment. ' Well this darkness could actually help me,' he mused to himself silently. 'If I can't see them, they can't see me.' But the reverse aspect was what he _didn't_ like. He needed to see them or else he could walk right into one in the dark and never realize it until they had him set in bonds and in a cart ready to be lead into some Valar-forsaken wasteland!

Lightning lit up the sky and Legolas saw everything for a split second. Everyone was running for his or her lives and it looked worse than hobbits racing from a dragon might seem. But he had noticed Damrod, or at least he thought it was the man, with Mytra, talking to someone who was shrugging his shoulders and shaking his head. Crinkling his forehead in pain as his head throbbed relentlessly, the Elf wondered if the bandage hadn't been on it what sort of headache he would be having right now. He might have very well cracked his skull when he flipped out that wagon. Oddly enough he hadn't realized he had struck his head on the ground but he supposed that it was quite probable he had.

Blinking, he shook his head gently to try and rid it of the ringing that was pulsing through his ears and driving him to insanity. But when the potency of his headache only increased, the Elf stopped gave it up as a lost cause. Walking quickly, but taking care to listen closely about him so he wouldn't get flattened by a speeding cart and set of oxen, the prince found a place to hide in the shadow of a building and pressed himself up against the wall so that when lightning flashed none would spot him. He was counting on the chaos and darkness to conceal him.

Smiling deviously and rather belligerently, the prince decided he would wait for Damrod to come along and then he would get some questions answered, he was certain of that. He knew how to get that man to tell him what he wanted and more beyond that. Legolas didn't enjoy using creative techniques to get information but his best friend was the stakes and at the moment and, he decided undeniably and immediately, he didn't care very much about who ever was unfortunate enough to get questioned and was stupid enough not to answer him instantaneously.

He didn't have long before he recognized Damrod's voice to his left, just around the corner of the building. The man was cursing softly to himself and Legolas let his smile fade into a deep scowl and his eyes narrowed to look like blue slits of flame. His expert hearing told him that Damrod was about to walk right past him. Tensing the Elf waited for the exact moment and then his arm struck out, grabbing the man roughly by his shirt collar.

Pulling him over and slamming Damrod's back up against the house's side, Legolas pressed his hand into the man's neck and brought his face so it was inches from the Haradrim man's. "Where have you taken him, human?" he questioned acidly and without mercy in his voice.

"Elf, get your hands off me!" Damrod bit out. "Lindir, I will kill you-" he stopped as Legolas pressed the knife to the skin of his neck. He hadn't even known the Elf had possessed a knife! Devious and insane immortal, he would kill him! If it were the last thing he did, he would kill him…

"I don't think so," Legolas said in a sneer as he pressed the blade in closer and none too carefully. All his anger wanted to unleash and Legolas was having trouble controlling his temper. Copying the cold and merciless tone of voice that his interrogators had used on him in the past he spat, "now I have some questions and if you value your life you _will_ answer them. Understood?" The prince was in no frame of mind to play games, not when there was so much he stood to lose.

Damrod spat back angrily and in frustration, "you are wasting your time."

Legolas removed the knife and then grabbed the man by his tunic, twisting his hands in the supple material, lifting the man off his feet and slamming him up onto the wall fiercely. "Really?" he asked his face now centimeters from Damrod's as he growled out, "I don't think so."

"You will regret this Elf!" Damrod said as he struggled to get free. Lightning flashed and he looked into the coldest set of blue eyes he had ever seen in his life. They were so cold he felt all warmth drain from his body and he shivered as they seemed to grow a shade cooler. Was it possible to say they looked completely heartless? No, they had pity and fear, but not for him.

"I might, but not as much as I will regret _not_ doing it," Legolas answered coolly. "Now I am going to try this again," he said, trying to remain patient as he smiled sinisterly, unable to restrain himself. "Where did you take Thorongil?" he snarled, trying to sound as fierce as he could. Damrod wriggled some more.

"I will never tell you Elf!" he protested as thunder rumbled loudly and lightning streaked the sky once again.

"Let us pretend I didn't hear that last comment because of the thunder. Now what was that you told me?" Legolas asked icily, twisting the tunic some more and considering using the knife beneath the man's chin again. He slammed the man against the wall as hard as he could and heard the man grunt.

"I said I will never-" his response was cut off abruptly as Legolas saw his face revealed in the lightning and slammed his fist into the man's jaw, rocketing his head back to slam bluntly against the wood of the house and a faint cracking noise sounded. Legolas hoped it wasn't the man's neck or head and he had to admit, he hadn't meant to hit the human that hard. But he had to get that information or Aragorn would die and that was not an option.

"Where have you taken my friend?" he inquired and tossed the man to the ground roughly as possible while keeping a grip on him. Legolas could hear his heavy breathing as fear began to grip the Harad mortal. He had reason to be afraid, he was giving Legolas less and less time to save his friend's life. If Aragorn died this man would regret ever having seen Legolas and that was an unconditional promise. Sneering inwardly, Legolas commented silently, 'this can be easy or it can be hard. Take your pick.'

"Elf, you are insane-' he saw the glower Legolas's face possessed and the pure and unaltered anger the Elf conveyed through his eyes alone. Placing his knees on the man's chest, Legolas sneered down, his eyes reminding Damrod of dark and icy wells of water in the crux of a cave's coldest fissure. He could not help but flinch as Legolas placed the knife directly over his lung, ready to run him through.

"I have decided to be generous and let you live if you cooperate. If you don't however, I can promise you I will readily tear you apart," the blonde being guaranteed his captive. "Now _where _didyoutakemyfriend?" he asked thickly with bitterness creeping into his voice. "You are losing this game you have been playing so you might as well tell me right there, right now before I force you to." Thunder rumbled and Damrod sighed wearily.

"He is at the tavern, the barkeeper has a trap door built in his fireplace, it is sealed so smoke can't really leak in. But he will never let you get that ranger out-"

"We'll see about that. Later. Where is this tavern?" Legolas asked, hardly able to keep a tremor of excitement out of his voice. He frowned irritably when there was a long silence that seemed to last an entire era but in fact lasted near fifty seconds or less. His frown turning into an all out scowl, he picked the man up by his shirtfront and slammed him back into the ground violently. Grinding his teeth in what just might be called an unhealthy way, Legolas bit out threateningly, "you had better start talking. Eru, for your own good you had better!"

Legolas diverted his attention for a moment as he heard trumpets sound. The detachment of Haradrim warriors from Sygul was nearing the city, he could see their torches coming closer and he could hear their war chants. Narrowing his eyes, he turned his attention reluctantly back to the human he had pressed to the wet earth. "Think of it," Legolas taunted slowly, allowing his point to sink in as the knife blade began to sink into the man's chest, "I could stop, right now and let you live. I could do that. I wouldn't have to rip out a lung…. Maybe your liver. I mean, it's no problem for me if you want to go about this the hard way."

But he had lied. It was a problem, a big problem.

Legolas resisted the urge to shudder as he felt the hot blood squirt out of this man's chest and heard his rapid breathing. He knew what it was like to be tortured and he had doing it, Valar he really did. His hands would never feel clean of this blood that now ran over them, hot and bright red. Even though he couldn't see it, he knew his hands were red. And he couldn't stop them from trembling. The man gave a cry and then one of his hands came over Legolas' shaking one.

"You don't really want to be doing this. Stop Elf, and come with me. Just stop," the man bit out around a set of grit teeth. He arched his back and hissed as Legolas accidentally gave the knife a twist as his hand clenched. He didn't want to do this but this man had used him, had been willing to put his friend into danger. He couldn't stop now, not when this man was so close to imparting to him all the information he wanted to know or needed to.

"I won't stop until you tell me what I need to know," he hissed and pulled the dagger out, then watched, gripped by disgust, as lightning lit up the sky and showed the bright blood spurting out of a wound on the man's chest, a wound he had deviously planned and created. Eru, he felt miserable and the rain washed the blood onto his own clothes in scarlet rivers, staining them as a reminder of this incident. He had known people who took pride in interrogations were sick, but he hadn't known exactly how sick until now.

His contorted face stared down at the man who was watching him closely. But to him it seemed this Elf was determined and he shuddered in pain and wonder. He had never seen a being the adamant and this mysterious. Fear began to reach out cold tendrils towards his heart as he wondered what this blonde Elf was capable of and how far he would go to get the information he wanted. He had heard stories when he was young, about Elves, wicked and unrelenting. What had he thought, thinking he could mess with an Elf? And a desperate Elf at that.

He felt his own blood pulsing form the wound and his energy fading as his life fluid fled his body. Looking into Legolas' cold and now numb looking eyes in the flickering light of the lightning he croaked out grudgingly, "its at the end of this street. On the corner. You cannot miss it." Closing his eyes, he looked away, unable to meet the Elf's eyes that were cold and merciless now though he sensed there was something else behind them. But it was carefully masked and with another shudder the man opened his eyes and looked at the being standing over him with a naked blade.

"Are you lying?" Legolas asked, hoping and praying that he wasn't and that this was the truth. He didn't want to interrogate further, he didn't.

"No," whispered Damrod quietly as his eyes locked on the knife Legolas' hand held as though he expected it to be plunged through his heart. Thunder rumbled forebodingly and Legolas followed the man's gaze slowly, not wanting to look but feeling compelled to. He had no control anymore, everything was turning into chaos. He had just tortured someone!

Now he saw what the man's eyes were locked on, his hand… his hand that held the bloodied knife. Rain was washing the crimson liquid away and it was dripping, dripping and staining the ground. Legolas looked at it, hypnotized by what he had done and what he could do.

Suddenly there was a thump and Legolas grunted as he realized something had impacted against this stomach. No, he amended mentally; something had just impacted his stomach _hard_. He toppled backwards and realized with alarm and dismay that Damrod had come out on top, his hands on his throat. Legolas gasped for breath helplessly as he felt the fingers constricting and pressing his airway in. "Never take your eyes off your enemy, Elf," he snarled and pressed in tighter. "You are coming to Mysol, understood?"

"No…"Legolas croaked out as best as he could with his airway constricted. "I will never…. Never leave….my…m-my…friend!" His hands clenched and unclenched as his heels dug up mud as they pounded the ground and kicked, trying to help free him of the suffocating hands. His hands gripped the earth and he gapped.

"But you will," Damrod said. "Or I will choke you now." He smiled as he watched the Elf squirm beneath him.

"No," Legolas managed out, his eyes growing wide but taking on a furious touch, he watched everything turn red and then fade into blurry images as his oxygen deprivation began to take its toll on his body. There were two men around him now, yes, two but they seemed to come and go and merge. Now there was one, funny how they looked alike. Was Darcíl here with his twin? No, it was only Damrod…alone.

Shaking his head, Legolas knew that if he didn't get the man off of him he was going to suffocate to death. Wriggling his knees up so that they were between the man and himself, Legolas kicked out quickly, wasting no time and breathed deeply as he felt the man's fingers release from their lethal grip on his throat. There was a loud crash and a cry then things went silent.

Lying down on the ground as the rain beat him, Legolas gasped and gulped in the air as his starved lungs craved more and more air, more than he could take in at once. His breathing was rapid and deep as his chest heaved more and more and then finally, after what seemed to be decade, settled to just simple, deep breathing. Thunder rumbled and the winds picked up with the rain intensifying with them so that it was blinding and was actually stinging his skin. His bandages were soaked and now sliding off and revealing his deep lacerations that were bleeding once more as the scabs and dried blood dissolved,

'This just about figures,' Legolas thought grimly to himself as he looked at the bandages that were too wet to truly serve their purpose. In disgust he stripped them off and flung the linen aside. Then the lightning became more vehement and he saw Damrod lying against a building, his face pale and his eyes blindly staring. 'Broke his neck,' commented the Elf emotionlessly. 'Pity.'

It wasn't that he had wanted to kill the man, he had simply wanted to get him off so he wouldn't be choked to death. But he didn't feel any guilt about the man's death. He wouldn't have killed him if Damrod hadn't attacked him first. It was his own cursed fault, no one else's.

Leaving the man where he had fallen, the Elf briefly gave the corpse a pitying look before he turned and faced the street corner. The blonde being knew that he had minimal time to rescue Aragorn and get him out before the city was captured and they were hunted out and taken prisoner again.

But his ears picked up a peculiar sound, a very peculiar sound. He knew it without even thinking. It was s soft creak and then a nearly silent twang followed by a whistling noise that was scarcely heard even by the Elf. A volley of arrows had been released from somewhere. Just betting it was from the approaching detachment out of Sygul, Legolas looked hesitantly in the direction of the coming company of Haradrim warriors. Indeed, there were flaming arrows. Blinking as he watched them fall, the Elf didn't move knowing that he was out of range or at least he had thought he was. But an alarm went off in his head when one managed to land dangerously close to him directly at his feet.

Staring at it for moment he made up his mind that waiting here for the warriors to march in, firing flaming arrows and burning buildings was not the wisest decision he could come up with. As he began to back away, he heard the not so familiar sound of homes and shops catching fire and the sound of roofs, like kindling, popping and cracking as the thatching was consumed.

He was grateful for the light, but little else, the immortal decided grimly. Looking around he saw that the women and children were already gone, but in the distance he could still see the caravan leaving slowly. Sighing inwardly, he knew that chances were they would never make it farther than halfway.

Looking around in the world now colored in orange tints and large and bizarre dancing shadows, Legolas suddenly began to run towards the village tavern, which wasn't on fire yet. But that couldn't last very long, he concluded as he reached the tavern door swiftly and glanced in. Narrowing his eyes he saw the barkeeper, a rather …large man, grabbing his weapons and seemingly preparing for battle, or at least trying to. Half-smiling, half-scowling, Legolas gave a soft and incredulous snort that was more or less inaudible.

O0O

Aragorn sat in the dark; he could hear the fire popping and crackling above his head and sighed, as he knew that the fireplace was lit more to hide him than because it was needed. The temperature wasn't too cold out. Who would think to look for a trap door beneath a flaming log or two? Hopefully no one, though Dorrag and his men all seemed to be insane and _someone_ had to think of putting it down here so _someone_ could be insane enough to look, he decided morosely.

Just then above his head there was a loud bang followed by what he thought to be a curse of sorts. Trying weakly to stand, Aragorn came to the realization of just how stiff he was from being down here in the damp, cool dark. His wounds were sore and his muscles were not very willing to comply with his commands. But then again, his brain was not very good at giving commands at the moment. As a matter of fact, he couldn't remember when it had last worked so slowly. Every slight twitch was agonizing and hurt with a cruel passion of its own.

Going over, he stumbled up the wooden stairs some of the way and tried to listen. Valar, if the soldiers found him he was as good as dead! And where ever was Legolas? That miserable Elf!

Another loud crash sounded and Aragorn crouched low below the trap door, listening fearfully and carefully. Obviously the barkeeper was having a fight with someone, but who that someone was he had no idea. Gelion was a big man, the ranger reminded himself. He should be perfectly careful of defending his position.

O0O

Legolas grimaced as he felt the hot and unfortunately familiar and coppery flavor of his crimson blood flowing from a busted lip. It trickled down his chin, as he lay sprawled against a table top with his feet barely touching the ground, with Gelion standing above him. He had been struck across the face by one of the man's large burly fists and now his head was spinning and he wondered if this was one hit too many to his skull. The room was merging and spinning in an irritating way that he was doing his best to put an end to.

"Elf, how did you get here?" questioned Gelion, standing over him with a club in hand, tapping it thoughtfully against the palm of the other as though deciding where he should start pummeling the nearly prone Elf.

Legolas glared back up wearily. He had to admit he was frowning a bit too much so he decided right then and there that a malicious smile would have the same cold affect he was searching for. "Never you mind," he snarled back. "I came for my friend. Now tell me where he is," Legolas began to rise slowly as he wriggled further from the man and his club that looked particularly cruel. "And I will cause you no trouble. We will leave momentarily, you have my word."

"You aren't going anywhere, _Elf_," Gelion said tensely as a cold smile to match Legolas ' crept across his face. He looked at his club pointedly before connecting eyes with Legolas, who still held the tiny dagger that he had received in the prison. This Elf was an idiot, he determined as he watched him reach for his pathetically short little dagger. As if it would do him a bit of good!

"Oh but that is where you are wrong, _human_, I am going somewhere, home. _After_ I get my friend back, which if you will stop delaying me will be shortly," Legolas added distinctly. He swerved to the side to avoid a blow to his head with the club, which would have knocked him out stone cold if it had hit him. 'Watch where you are swinging that thing,' he pointed out mentally. 'It's dangerous.'

"Elf, you aren't leaving this house, unless I say so, which by the way, I say you aren't," Gelion growled as he came between the Elf and the door.

Legolas gave him a half frown and then turned his back on the man and made a break for the fireplace. Ugh, it was burning! How could he save Aragorn if he couldn't reach the door because there was a fire burning! This had to be the most frustrating thing he had ever been through if you disregarded the meeting where they argued for hours simply over trade to Lake Town when it was truly quite pointless.

There was a sharp and aggravating pain in between his shoulders, he realized as he gasped and fell flat on his face. His hands brushed against the flames before he jerked it away. Rolling over, he found himself looking up at Gelion, club raised, ready to strike again. Thinking quickly, Legolas quickly rolled over and rolled clear of the massive and heavy chunk of carved wood. Narrowly missing having a considerable bump raised on his skull, Legolas heard Gelion grunt in dismay. "Damn, Elf," he cursed loudly.

Standing up quickly, the Elf jerked to the side and then struck at the barkeeper's arm with his knife, cutting a bloody line across the limb. The man cried out in pain and drove his club at Legolas' side, managing to catch him and knocking the wind out of him whilst slamming him against the table corner.

This time it was Legolas' turn to cry out and he bit his lip as he felt the pain lanced through his already abused ribs and abdomen. Damn! He simply must go faster, he must. The soldiers were coming so he had to get Aragorn fast or they wouldn't get out of the town alive, especially since the archers were already in range.

Feeling dazed, Legolas only knew that his meager knife was not a good weapon in this fight. Looking over, he realized this was a kitchen after all, and there were pots, pans and all sorts of various knives. Really it could be a butcher house if he were looking to kill the man, but fortunately for the human he was not. His blue eyes swirled to look above him and he noticed detachedly that there was a large black skillet above his head, heavy and made of iron. Reaching up, he grabbed it and relieved the hook it had been resting on of its weight.

Gelion made one final swipe for the prince's head and that was his undoing. The swipe narrowly missed breaking Legolas' nose but the immortal jerked his head back, slamming the back of it against the wall with a violent _smack_. But at the same time, the prince brought the iron pan down hard and it smashed down across the man's forehead. He crumpled forward onto the dazed Elf; out stone cold and perhaps dead. Legolas decided quickly that he didn't care much about the man at this point it.

Stumbling over all but blindly to wear the fireplace was, he knew the trapped door was beneath the flames. Knowing that there was no other way to get the fire out and the ashes removed eh reached his booted foot in the flames and began to roll out the burning logs. Shocking pain raced up his right leg and he felt like a Balrog was consuming his thigh as the flames licked his clothes and seared his skin. Crying out, the Elf realized with dismay and frustration he could get no more out with his feet and kneeling by the fireplace on the stone hearth, the Elf began to scoop the hot ashes out of the way with his hands, desperately trying to get to his friend.

He bit his lip and grimaced as he felt his hands burn and his skin turn extremely tender to the touch. He could smell the horrible stench of his own skin burning as he hurriedly scooped the door free of the smoldering coals and slightly burning kindling pieces. 'Elbereth, this hurts,' he groaned mentally. But it was all for Aragorn, all of it.

Opening his eyes, he saw the door handle and grabbed it, crying out as the metal burning his hand and then everything seemed to go cold and then he felt no more. Ignoring his own pain and discomfort, the prince realized he couldn't jerk the door open, it was locked with a bolt drawn across it. Cursing his luck, Legolas grabbed the scalding hot bolt without thinking twice and wrenched it over, releasing the lock. Using the handle, Legolas finally swung the door up and open and stared down into the shocked face of Aragorn.

O0O

Cortanyar looked at the village with a displeased and cold frown as he thoughtfully turned things over in his head, assessing the situation. These villagers, or at least a good percent of them, were putting up a decent fight, a fight he had honestly not fully expected, even though this town was known for its more rebellious tendencies and he should have known that today would be no exception. Sheathing his saber like sword, the man walked forward ad few more feet and screamed at his troupes. "Don't light the arrows, the enemy can dodge them! Use night arrows!"

Seriously, these warriors needed to learn to use their heads! It was not some extensive surgery that needed a highly developed brain! It was fighting for your life and trying to shoot he enemy full of arrows before he filled you full of them instead. Walking stiffly over to where one of his commanders was ordering the troupes to dash the fire, he glared, "well, how are we holding up, all things considered?"

"Sir, we have taken considerable loss after the first volley, but we vindicated them, sir." He looked up at his superior with a complaint and anxious expression on his face. It was clear that he was alarmed about more than the situation.

"How many did we lose?" Cortanyar questioned around set of grit teeth, his eyes darkened as they narrowed into slits of inquiry and wrath. "I am waiting, Lieutenant."

"Well, we lost at least twenty, maybe more. But we made them pay as much if not more," he added with a hopeful half-smile that was so small it was simply overlooked by Cortanyar as he gazed at the chaos surrounding his men and this entire blasted village.

"Who had ever thought these rebels could be so cursed hard to vanquish?" he spat contemptuously as he watched a few house burst into flame. A small smile played on his lips but then he pressed them tight with concern. He had been ordered to keep the city in tact. If he went ahead and burned few of these houses, Dorrag might not be too unpleased but if that fire spread, well life wouldn't be worth living when Dorrag found out. Cortanyar shifted his weight uneasily and then said, "move in, find that Elf and kill that ranger, Bring the Elf to me as soon as he is secured."

"Sir, with all due respect, this operation is going rather well, I believe. I mean all things considered we are driving the rebels out and killing them pretty quickly." He gave a shrug and said calmly, "and perhaps we can make a deal with the rebels if we cannot find the Elf and ranger." Maybe that was not the smartest thing to say when one considered Cortanyar's mood but it was too late to take it back, so biting his lip, the underling waited patiently for the inevitable wrath to follow.

Cortanyar sneered bitterly and then asked in a snarl, "oh? And what kind of deal are we talking about here?" His officers were all insane, he mused thoughtfully. You didn't bargain with the enemy, you forced them to obey you through fear and pain. You made their lives miserable, that was how you conquered.

"We could propose that we don't obliterate their village if they hand over the Elf and ranger," the Lieutenant said smoothly, trying to sound as convincing as possible but knowing that he was probably going to get nothing but harsh rebuke for his efforts. Something drew his attention to the right as he saw his men pressing back a small group of rebel's that might have attempted escape. "Stop them! No one of them gets away!" He shouted loudly and rather harshly.

"We bargain for the Elf and ranger?" Cortanyar asked with an amused expression on his face that looked belligerent as anything and he shook his head. "You know why you can't get further than being a Lieutenant? You have yet to realize that dead men are so much less resistant and troublesome than live ones. Not to mention the fact that the village is in so much turmoil the Elf and ranger are probably are lost to them as well."

The other man gulped silently and then got back to his duty all the while bristling form the rebuke and thinking venomously, 'or I have learned that killing may be the easiest way but not always the best way.' He looked at the troupes he had been placed in charge of and watched as they lit the meager wheat fields nearby and even though it rained, the crops went up after oil was thrown haphazardly on them. Glancing at the village he noticed that the soldiers were not encountering any more resistance and that in fact, the rebels were fleeing. Feeling some satisfaction, he looked up at his commander, who was smiling maliciously.

"Move in and break down every door, spare no house, but keep your torch happy men under control!" he added with a purposed look at men about them, brandishing torches as thought they were flags to be waved around without much thought. "We must _not_ destroy the entire village!"

**TBC...Hmmmmm...well we have a semi-evil cliffie. Can't say we are surprised. Legolas got rather violent there, didn't he? But you have to admit, Damrod asked for it! **


	21. The Beginning of the End

_**CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE**_

Beginning of the End 

Aragorn stared up at Legolas with a white face and the biggest eyes the Elf had ever had the amusement of looking upon in a long time. Smiling devilishly and in half-monotony, the prince stared down at his friend as he extended a helping hand down for the ranger to grasp. Aragorn grabbed the prince's slender hand reluctantly, remembering vividly the painful time spent in Dorrag's little dungeons. Legolas looked at him curiously and then cast a small and concerned frown as he felt the human's grip on his hand loosen even more. "Estel, my hand will be fine. Please, just grab it. I don't need you to fall back down the stairs so I have to fetch your battered body back up again." He winced unnoticeably when he felt Aragorn grip his hand tightly.

Aragorn glanced over his shoulder at the stairs leading down behind him and looked up at Legolas with a half-smile. "Trust me on this; I wouldn't want you to have to fetch my battered body up from the bottom of the stairs." He grinned cheekily when Legolas rolled his eyes at the light banter.

"I was hoping you didn't," the Elf commented under his breath and proceeded to pull Aragorn out of the hidden trap door as quickly as his weary body allowed him to. This was actually fast, all things considered. He knitted his brows when Aragorn stumbled up and then past him entirely by accident before halting abruptly to avoid stepping on the body of Gelion.

Legolas watched for a moment as his friend's face went from white to grey as he realized from the blue tinge creeping into Gelion's lips that the man was dead. Looking back at Legolas with a dropped jaw his asked stiffly and slowly in shock, "whatever happened here?" He nearly flushed as he realized the stupidity of his question but he simply couldn't help but ask.

"He tried to club me within an inch of my life! I did what I had to, Estel," Legolas muttered, grabbing the man's shoulders and trying to steer him past the corpse of the large barkeeper that was sprawled out on the floor. Legolas scowled darkly and with disapproval as Aragorn stopped without warning and shrugged Legolas' hands off.

Turning on Legolas, the mortal frowned as he sensed the disturbance in the Elf's voice. "You did nothing wrong, my friend. He attacked you."

"Killing people isn't exactly something I feel comfortable with…ever," Legolas finished in a voice that trailed off. He sighed and grabbed Aragorn's arm and spun him quickly around to guide him out of the door. Aragorn didn't resist though he had liked to, and allowed himself to be pushed out of the door.

Legolas looked back one last time and saw Gelion's lifeless form spread-eagle on the floor and the large, black pan lying next to it. Sighing, Legolas shook his head as he continued out the door swiftly. If he had thought he was insane before he was certain of it now. After all, he had killed this man with a _frying pan_. If he hadn't been the one to do it, he would have never believed it, absolutely never. Grabbing the door, he shut it roughly behind him with a quiet _swoosh_ noise and a soft and nearly unperceptive click.

But before he could brood anymore, he was swiftly and abruptly brought into the moment as an arrow slammed with a definite _smack_ into the wooden door and there were a few more thuds as some more of the bolts found their way into the wood of the building. Aragorn wisely ducked grabbing Legolas' arm and pulling him down as well, forcing the Elf into a low crouch. The prince nodded his thanks that was scarcely seen by Aragorn in the dark, due to the heavier rain that had started to fall and swiftly quenched the blaze started by the flaming arrows.

"And now all we have to do it get out of Astroggen undetected," Legolas grumbled sardonically, muffled halfway by his deep breaths that he was working on making as quiet as possible. An annoying thing, breathing. It was easiest to hear at the most inconvenient times imaginable.

Aragorn glanced sidelong at his companion and snorted softly at the wry remark from the pessimistic prince. "Oh, is that all mellon nin?" he teased dryly with a small half-smile tugging at his lips. The ranger watched as Legolas shook his head minutely and sighed wearily. "Where is Damrod?" Aragorn inquired, finding it odd that the brother of Darcíl wasn't dogging their every step. He wasn't used to the feeling of being free.

There was a long silence in which he heard Legolas draw a long sigh and observed in wondering silence as the blonde being kept his eyes to the ground. He seemed to be avoiding eye contact with anyone but the soggy soil beneath their feet. At long last, after what seemed a decade, the Elf murmured, "I killed him too, Estel."

It took a moment for the words to sink in and the ranger sighed before he took found himself starring blindly at the ground as well. He knew Legolas didn't feel comfortable with putting out any life. Immortals were careful about killing others, very careful and often all too merciful. They often got themselves killed because they were overly merciful with a foe. "Well I am sure you had to," Aragorn answered thoughtfully as he tried to say something that wouldn't provoke a volley of bitter words or vindication from his companion.

"He knew where you were," the Elf answered softly with a touch of disinclination and looked at the men scurrying about the streets. "But he wouldn't tell me. Let's just leave it at that I had to get a little creative with impressing upon him the urgency at which I needed to find you. But I didn't want to kill him…he attacked me and I kicked out, sending him against the wooden side of a building. I don't know whether he is merely knocked out or if he is he dead."

Aragorn nodded and made no further comment on the subject, not wanting to cause Legolas to go on the defense and also knowing that there were more important issues at hand…like getting out alive for instance…or getting out at all, was more actually the dilemma. How exactly did one maneuver past soldiers and others out for your blood? Knowing it wasn't going to be easy was about the extent of Aragorn's knowledge at the moment and he sighed beside the Elf, who looked down at him mournfully and with a weary, droopy look in his eyes.

"There are too many," He said quietly in a whisper. "We won't make it out without being pursued and Valar knows we might get re-captured." He was quiet for a moment and then muttered under his breath, "and then we are both dead."

Aragorn glanced up at the Elf and then shifted his feet on the wet earth nervously. "Nice of you to be so pessimistically blunt, mellon nin," he grumbled pointedly as Legolas gave a soft smile in the dark. Well, now that Aragorn looked at it a bit closer, it really couldn't be called a smile. Maybe a half-frown but definitely not a smile, he decided to himself before turning his attention back to the approaching soldiers.

Several of them were approaching and Aragorn felt his dismay grow as he realized they seemed to be overly zealous about carrying out their orders. If he didn't know better he would say they particularly enjoyed going around and smashing doors, windows and anything else that got into their path. They were just like orcs, he realized, relatively mindless and having a special soft spot in their wicked hearts for the enjoyment of sheer destruction. His gaze redirected to look at his Elven companion who was chewing on his bottom lip thoughtfully as his alert cyan eyes intently followed the soldier's every move.

"This is about as easy as being a rat in a sinking ship," muttered the Elf to himself but audible enough that Aragorn could easily hear it.

Biting his own bottom lip now in quiet concentration, the ranger channeled his grey eyes towards the soldiers once more, anxiety rising in his heart as he realized with distress Legolas was right. They were caught like rats in a quickly sinking ship that happened to be going under in choppy waters. Inwardly slapping himself, the man knew he must stop himself form drawing these morbid and discouraging analogies.

A loud bang disrupted Aragorn 's train of thought abruptly and he jerked visibly, causing Legolas to look at him in grave concern. "Are you alright?" he hissed at his friend. "Are you in pain?"

"No more than usual," Aragorn retorted grumpily, unnerved.

Legolas glared before he replied crossly, "funny, very funny."

"And completely honest," Aragorn answered back with a slight grin. He snorted as he watched the soldiers coming closer and asked Legolas without looking at the blonde being, "Do you have a plan for getting past these people?" Not expecting an answer, the dark-haired ranger sighed wearily.

There was a silence that lasted for few moments.

But it was promptly broken by Legolas' voice, sounding more devious than usual, Aragorn noted dryly. "I actually do, my friend," he whispered with a calculating look coming into his eyes and an old and dangerous sparkle returning.

There was no way possible that the expression the prince bore meant anything good, at least, if you were a hapless Haradrim warrior.

"Valar help us all," Aragorn teased as he watched Legolas' expression with minimal amusement flickering for a brief second across his face. "Well, lets here it."

Legolas allowed a quizzical facial cast to cross his features before he answered with a soft snort as he suppressed a chuckle that was trying to bubble up. He nearly choked on his laughter and then nodded. "Alright, here it is."

Bending lower, he whispered cautiously into Aragorn's ear all that he had come up with.

After he had disclosed his plans, the Elf pulled away quickly and watched his friend's face for the expected reaction.

Aragorn dropped his jaw silently and then snapped it shut quickly. His lips pressed into a thin, conscientious white line before he opened his mouth again and began to move it without speaking. Suddenly he found his voice. "No, absolutely not." He started to stand up in his frustration and anxiety but his arm was grabbed by the smiling blonde Elf who hastily yanked him back down into a crouching position before he made himself an easy target.

"Be careful Estel," Legolas cautioned as Aragorn jerked his arm free with some anger.

"And you tell me to be careful!" he accused angrily. Staring at the prince accusingly, the mortal snapped. "I will not let you carry through with this!" He looked at the ground and then looked up at Legolas sternly before the poor prince had time to advocate himself. "No!"

"Estel-"

"Absolutely not!" the man seethed in a dangerous and nearly threatening hiss. His eyes showed an adamancy that Legolas knew it would be smart not to challenge. But then again he was insane, so this was no anomaly to his usual state of mind and routine.

"Look, if we don't do this now, we aren't leaving here alive!" The blonde being argued as fiercely as he could bring himself to. "The soldiers are moments away, do you understand that? Moments!" He rolled his blue eyes over in an explicit gesture towards the approaching warriors. "I will be fine-"

"You always say that!" Aragorn bit out as his frustration and blood temperature (not to mention pressure) rose.

"Well I am alive at this moment-" Legolas sighed as he was interrupted by the near livid ranger.

"But far from fine," the man felt compelled to point out.

"Well you and who are going to stop me?" Legolas hissed, consciously working not to shout as his patience began to quickly leave as the urgency increased. "We have no choice but to split up, just until we get outside of the city. They are after me, you can escape, I will follow."

"So you told me," the man grumbled, seeing the evident sense but refusing to believe that Legolas was actually going to do this. "They are out to kill you, Legolas! Damn it!" he finally cursed. "You cannot let those men come after you! That is madness! Actually, I don't know why this surprises me," he finished grouchily.

Legolas was about to mutter something uncomplimentary back to the ranger when a sinister voice behind them chuckled, "well what do we have here?"

Cold shivers, like icicles being stabbed into his back one by one accelerated up Legolas' spine and raised the hair on the back of his head one strand at a time. Gulping and looking at Aragorn without turning his head, Legolas' azure eyes were intense with conveyed fear but more surprise than anything else. Aragorn dared to turn his head and look behind them both to see a tall man, obviously a commander or captain by his uniform, which had been similar to Darcíl's. 'No, wait,' he amended mentally. 'They are identical.'

Legolas jerked around and stood up with a literal jump. His heart began to thud in his chest but his expression was a complete and bitter glower aimed at the Haradrim Captain before him. "You just don't know when to give up," the man smiled maliciously at the Elf as he spoke, stepping forward with his sword level with Legolas' throat whilst being a considerable foot away.

"Well generally when one's life is threatened they fight to the death," Legolas replied coolly, or at least relatively speaking. His blue orbs took an iced over effect before he back-stepped as Cortanyar advanced. The sword was becoming uncomfortingly close to his jugular and then there was also the unfortunate fact that he could here men closing in from all sides like wolves closing in on trapped deer.

"Well the fight is over now," The ex-healer nearly purred, much to Legolas' annoyance. Nodding to the men he commanded casually, "bind the Elf," His eyes connected with Legolas' wide ones. "Kill the ranger."

O0O0O0O0O

Darcíl struggled forward a few more meager feet. He stumbled and was barely able to stop himself from falling flat on his face. It was dark all about him and the lightning had stopped flickering, providing minute moments of radiant light. But towards Astroggen he saw light, golden with orange reflecting a brilliant red against the sky and clouds billowed up from the direction of the town. But those were not clouds, he realized sharply. They were billows of smoke, smoke created from the burning of the crops, he knew that.

Trying to walk forward a few more feet he discovered with vivid clarity that he couldn't easily go any farther. He felt heavier than an iron horse shoe as the weight of the burden of his family weighed down upon his already injured spirit and conscience. They were dead! He couldn't believe that they were gone, forever, it was unreal, entirely. They had always secretly supported him and now they were deceased, because of him! His body felt far too heavy to move anymore and he felt himself sliding to his knees.

His mind tried to force him to continue but he simply could not. His muscles refused to comply no matter how much he tried to get them to function properly and finally he gave up and remained kneeling on the ground, with is hands in his lap. Lowering his head, the man let his eyes close as he felt tears pricking behind them with a sharp pain. His heart had already broken, but now his conscience was following.

He had done a lot of things that he wasn't proud of. He had killed innocent people; he had tortured and maimed. Even though he loathed the Elf, he hadn't gained any enjoyment from the immortal's pain. He felt his hands stained with the blood of many that he didn't think could ever be cleansed. He should have gone against Dorrag a long time ago, as his brother had.

Why hadn't he? Because he had his family to think of, but now they were dead and out of his reach of protection. Now he had nothing to lose except his country and/or his life. Darcíl felt his tears running down his face as he realized his own life he could gamble with but that he should have never started gambling with the lives of his family. As he kneeled on the wet sandy earth he felt nothing; he was numb, completely.

Suddenly something shot through his heart, something painful that didn't come from the loss of his wife and children. It was like separate part of him had died, shriveled and burned away. He couldn't understand where this came from but he was certain that it wasn't a good thing. As a matter of fact, it seemed to ominous and foreboding.

O0O0O0O0O

Elladan woke uneasily. Something had disturbed him.

Roving his eyes around the night sky and then all about the ground he lay on, the Elf noticed his twin was still sleeping peacefully beside him, his breathing was deep and methodical as he dreamed restfully. Smiling, Elladan sat up and saw what had roused him, their father was awake and staring intently across the river's ford.

He whispered quietly, "Ada?" Elrond turned around and quieted him with one firm look that explained everything.

"The orcs are moving. I do not know why but they appear to be going deeper into Mirkwood," the elder Elf answered when he saw his eldest son's inquiring look that quickly changed to one of critical foreboding, typical of Elladan's disposition. Elladan blinked numbly and watched his father for a moment, trying unsuccessfully to calculate the severity of the situation.

"Perhaps the Wood-Elves are drawing them in to kill them?" he proposed softly as he stood by Elrond's side attentively, his eyes now transfixed on the opposite shore. When the Lord of Imladris didn't answer he looked at his father curiously. "Ada?" he questioned with raw concern.

"Perhaps, Elladan, perhaps. I cannot tell, but I think we would have known if that were the case, my son," he added as he shook his head tiredly and began tot walk back to where they were camped, though it was lacking a fire and the dimmed light of the moon was all the light they had. The stars provided some light as well.

"Indeed, we would have. Father, Captain Rothinzil would have fallen flat at some point or done something else incredibly 'un-Elf-like'. " The older twin chuckled under his breath as he remembered past experiences with the young Wood-Elf. He shifted his piercing gaze reluctantly away from the orc camp across the ford, to his father's face.

Elrond was smiling, or that was what he thought but when the light changed, as the stars seemed to brighten he saw the Elf-lord was frowning. Maybe it had been a change of lighting that had caused a figment of the imagination of a smile having appeared. Or perhaps the smile had been brief and quickly faded. Unable to tell, Elladan narrowed his eyes and returned to glowering at the opposite shore where the fell beasts were gathered. Disappointed, the Elf realized that he couldn't see much of anything much in thanks to a fine misty fog that was settling over the river and along its banks. Crinkling his nose, he silently cursed their luck or more accurately the lack thereof.

Elrond nodded in gesticulation to the orcs. "We may have to find another place to cross." His face looked suddenly so much older than Elladan ever remembered it looking and it made the elder twin feel sick to his stomach.

A soft call drew his attention back to his bedside where he saw Elrohir sitting up with a cloudy look on his pale features. Still not fully awake, the younger twin mumbled tiredly, "what in Arda are you doing up?" He yawned and blinked stupidly before his silver eyes connected with his elder twin's.

"Nothing, Elrohir, go back to sleep," Elladan answered back calmly and began to walk back towards his younger brother. Elrohir was frowning with care for his brother and his frown turned into a scowl as Elladan sat beside him with an audible _plop_. It was obvious that the older to the brothers was distressed. Unable to sit still, he grabbed a long blade of grass, uprooting it and bending it around in his fingers.

"There is something on your mind," Elrohir said thoughtfully as he watched their father keeping his silent and steadfast vigil over the ford. Elrohir turned his eyes back to Elladan, who he saw was watching the opposite bank as well with an intense look in his eyes as he tried without success to bore through the thickening mist. Curse this mist!

"I just have a feeling that Estel needs us urgently, right now," Elladan murmured, shaking his head as though to try and relieve himself of the thought that their younger brother was in any danger.

"Odd," Elrohir said slowly, looking at his hands as he spoke, curling his fingers and uncurling them with no true purpose in mind. "I have the same feeling." Elladan noticed Elrohir suddenly went really quiet, so you could hardly hear him breathing. It didn't even sound like his voice speaking as he whispered to his twin, "but I don't think he is alone right now. I am not sure Legolas is in Mirkwood."

"What do you mean?" Elladan asked impassively, his face looking dead of all thought. If anything he had a faraway look in his eyes, as though he was in another world. Suddenly he looked at Elrohir, who looked restless and uneasy. Tossing the bent up piece of grass and pulling up another, Elladan waited for Elrohir to explain himself, knowing it would happen in his own time.

"I mean, Legolas hasn't sent word in what? Two years? I don't think we made him _that_ angry when we put worms in his tunic pockets a few years back," Elrohir and Elladan shared a smile at the memory of that particular escapade. Legolas had nearly squealed when he reached into his pockets and found a slimy surprise that actually was _crawling_. Instead his face obtained a green color before turning red with fury.

"Perhaps you are right, maybe he is with Estel," Elladan agreed halfway.

Elrohir snorted. "Valar help Estel then, I say." Elladan smiled but somehow it never reached his eyes. Noticing this, Elrohir frowned and looked at the wet grass about them, not wanting to meet his brother's gaze. "But if Legolas isn't in Mirkwood then why are we going there?"

"Maybe Thranduil will know something that can help us," Elladan answered calmly as he stretched out beside Elrohir and clasped his hands behind his head for a pillow, interlocking his fingers and staring up at the sky, the stars in particular. He would have liked being out in this beautiful place if it had not been for Estel missing and their father being overly depressed.

Elrohir settled back down onto his bedding and mumbled morbidly, "maybe Legolas is in Mirkwood and the orcs are too bold for them to do much traveling to get word to us."

Elladan pushed down the annoying voice in his head that had burst into hysterics at the suggestion of Legolas being held back because of a troupe of two of orcs. All the same, he could not help but snicker himself. "That prince doesn't seem to mind finding or fighting a troupe of orcs single handedly. I think he halfway enjoys having his life in constant danger."

"He is a lunatic, even for a Wood-Elf," Elrohir determined audibly with a bantam and modest snicker of his own.

"Lunatic enough to get himself killed?" Elladan questioned bluntly, glancing over at his brother with a purposeful look reflecting in his silver eyes that made Elrohir uncomfortable.

"Surely we would have heard _something_," Elrohir disputed hopefully, though he feel this anxiety rise in his throat and dread gathering in the pit of his stomach. Suddenly he wished he had not eaten that Lembas bread earlier. From the contorted and worried face of his brother, Elrohir knew that Elladan felt undividedly the same way.

"We might have, I suppose. I mean two years…you would have thought they would have told us about the passing of their prince," Elladan turned everything over in his head, mulling over it for a few moments. "No," he voiced softly, "I do not think that Legolas is dead." He cast a worried frown towards their father as Lord Elrond paced near the bank, obviously disquieted about the orcs on the other side. The mist concealed everything on the other side of the ford but with their sensitive hearing, the Elves could all three hear the orcs jeering and growling and wreaking havoc on the trees with their axes; being in general the evil menaces that they were.

"Then maybe you were right earlier. Thranduil might know where Legolas has gallivanted off to." Elrohir's voice sounded weary and Elladan's eyes smiled as he looked at his twin.

"Get some rest, _gwador-nin_."

"You too, brother," Elrohir answered back, already beginning to stare off into space as he merged night and dream in the fashion of the Elves.

Elladan said nothing, but remained awake staring at the stars, He just knew that his brother needed him right now and it hurt that he wasn't there. 'Elbereth, help them both,' he prayed silently. 'If Legolas is with him there still isn't a wit between them.'

**TBC….Ouch, _evil_ cliffie, but just as a warning we will say that these last few chapters, in general are going to be short, fast and tense. **


	22. Shrinking Hope

_**CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO**_

Shrinking Hope

'You idiot! Think of something!' the annoying voice in Legolas' head scolded him as the men drew about the trapped Elf and ranger, ready to fulfill their captain's commands. The prince noted the alarm that was shooting through his awareness as the men formed a small, tight circle around them as they advanced. Why was he really not too surprised with this turn of events? Shaking his head inwardly, he felt a steady and sure fury building up inside. 'You had better think a little quicker, before they kill him. You only have a little window of time left.'

'I know that!' the other side of his thoughts countered in agitation.

Frowning, Legolas clenched his sweating hands into fists and felt the knife in one hand, the one he had been given by Dorrag, the only thing he had for protection right now. It was too small to be of much service to fight free with, Legolas realized, disappointed. He noticed Aragorn pressing closer to him as the men's circle drew tighter.

One of them men came and grabbed hold of one of his wrists, trying to twist his arm behind his back, but Legolas resisted strongly, jerking his arms free and spinning around to face the adversary. Suddenly he drove himself forward, slamming violently into the group of men on one side of the circle, and jabbing his elbow sharply into the stomach of one that gripped him from behind at a poor attempt to pin his arms to his sides. The Haradrim warrior fell away with a grunt and Legolas continued to kick and jerk around, making it very difficult for them to get a grip on him and keep it long enough to bind his hands with a rope.

Seeing some men trapping Aragorn with scimitars drawn, Legolas abruptly spun and slammed himself into those men as well, knocking them away from Aragorn and into the dirt. The ranger stumbled a couple steps, glancing worriedly over at the Elf who was being grappled slowly but surely by men from all sides. 'Stubborn, damned Elf!' Aragorn growled mentally.

"Run you reckless human!" Legolas called to Aragorn urgently in the Grey Tongue before someone managed to grab his forearm and twist it behind him prior to delivering a powerful blow to his abdomen, causing him to sink to his knees partway.

Aragorn took a few steps towards the Elf, who was fighting with all he had, not so much to get away as to create a diversion to give his friend a window of time to escape. Though escaping himself would be a bonus, the Elf decided. Being forced to his knees, Legolas valiantly tried to remain on his feet, but his old wounds had taken more out of him than he had originally thought and he was quickly tiring.

Torn between following Legolas' wish, knowing that his friend was doing this for him, and wanting to go and fight away Legolas' foes, Aragorn stood for a moment, watching everything with a dropped jaw.

Finally, at a brutal glare from Legolas the man turned and took full advantage of every soldier present try to contain the Elf to run for the edges of the city and the desert. Cursing Legolas' selflessness, the man prayed to the Valar that the Elf would find a away to break himself free. Grimacing and nearly stopping to look back as he heard a faint cry of pain he realized that Legolas was caught and that he wasn't going to be breaking free any time soon.

Realizing now that he had a few men on his heels, the ranger tried to run faster, relying heavily on his adrenaline to give him energy as he felt his wounds catching up to him. His legs felt like useless lumps of lead and his muscles felt weaker than water.

Legolas finally found himself pinned with his stomach to the ground and his chin resting on the sandy soil as his arms were pulled behind him and twisted painfully. His knife had been knocked out of his grasp and picked up by Cortanyar some time ago. Gritting his teeth he recognized the annoying and slightly aching feeling of a boot being placed between his shoulders and ground in torturously. This was one of the most uncomfortable positions he had been in for a few days, the Elf mused irritably. His mutinous glower that he cast at Cortanyar was rewarded with a kicked directly beneath is chin that caused his head to snap up and his teeth to clench abruptly, causing him to narrowly miss biting his tongue.

Wriggling, still trying to buy Aragorn time, the prince tried to roll over and kick out at his captors but a sharp kick commenced, slamming into one of his damaged ribs, eliciting a strangled cry form the Elf, who attempted to curl in on himself. But at the moment the seemingly endless amount of hands still trying to binds his own were doing a good job of preventing that. Struggling to try and crawl forward at least an inch, just for the sake of resisting, even if it was futile, Legolas stopped and bit his lower lip when another kick was placed soundly into his stomach.

A man reached down and tangled his rough fingers in the matted and dirty tresses of the Elf's golden hair before bring the head up and quickly slamming it into the ground, dazing Legolas for a brief moment with violent pain. World spinning out of focus in an annoyingly painful way, Legolas closed his eyes and winced as he felt the bonds tighten about his wrists and the circulation be cut off from his fingers…again. What was this, the fourth time he had been bound by these people? Maybe the third? Certainly no less than that. Working hard to ignore the pain and the irritation that came from having one's wrists bound unnecessarily tight, Legolas opened his blue orbs, which now blazed with a fury.

Cortanyar stared down at him with a smile on his face. "End of the line, Elf. You lead us on a merry chase, but it stops here." Drawing his foot back he quickly put a cruel amount of force behind it and rammed it into the defenseless Elf's side harshly, causing the prince to moan in affliction and curl in feebly on himself. Not satisfied as the Elf lay in the dirt and muck, the man motioned to his warriors and they all began to ruthlessly kick their captive in the side, anywhere they could make contact with his weakened body.

Crying out as one booted foot found is mark on his face, the prince felt blood run from his nose and when another blow struck his mouth, the Elf tasted the coppery and familiar flavor of his blood rushing from a broken lip. He could feel the bruises rising on his face and sides and winced as he saw the boot near his face drawn back again. Breathing accelerating, the prince jerked his face to the side to try and avoid another blow.

He thought he heard a command for the men to stop their abuse and when the blows ceased to fall he cautiously opened his eyes and blinked, which was even painful. Everything hurt and all he could do was lay breathlessly in the street as Cortanyar stood over him with a malevolent smile. Grabbing a decent sized handful of blonde hair, the man jerked the Elf up to his knees and sneered in his captive's paled face, "thought you wouldn't receive anything in return for your little game?" He released the Elf with a downward thrust. "You thought wrong." Glaring at the Elf he decided he didn't want him out here in the open and spat at him before snapping, "oh, get up you lazy Elf!" Drawing back his boot he connected it again into the prince's side and waiting a moment to savor the cry of pain the kick bought.

Grabbing Legolas angrily by his upper arm, he ground his fingers into the Elf's already bruised flesh as he pulled him to his feet. The battered captive stumbled after the Haradrim captain in a daze as pain hammered through his head and drowned out all his senses. How hard had he been hit? More importantly, how often? Unable to answer these questions, Legolas nearly stumbled over the body of a man that lay in the street, one of the town's folk. Blood ran from the man's mouth and nose in two tiny trickles, making Legolas look away in disgust.

Running into one of his underlings, Cortanyar asked gruffly, "is the village secure?" He shoved Legolas over a bit as he spoke and the dazed Elf didn't resist but simply countered his feet to avoid falling. Watching the exchange between the soldiers with a curious look on his face, the prince realized he was favoring on leg. It must have been hurt in the scuffle. Wincing as he forced himself to apply weight to it in order to test it out he was happy to know it wasn't broken, maybe he had a minor sprain…

"The village is secure, sir. The rebels have fled or were killed," came the courteous and prompt response. He nodded curiously at the bound Elf, standing a foot or so off but close enough that Cortanyar could reach out and grab him in a heartbeat. Although it wasn't like that mattered, because Legolas was too dazed to even think about an escape attempt let alone try and pull one off. "So is he the one we came for, sir?"

"One of them, anyway. The other is not so important. He is dead, if anyone asks you," Cortanyar growled out the threat gruffly, eyeing the warrior before him with a foreboding glare.

"He is dead. Good, sir." The warrior saluted before going off at a nod from his captain to attend his duties.

Cortanyar stood there for a moment before turning to Legolas and pulling him closer. "As for you," he snarled contemptuously. "I have a little gift for you much in thanks to your constant resistance and escape." Taking a rope, he tied a small loop at one end and threaded the other end of the cord through it, creating a noose. Legolas jerked his head away, loath to be touched by this human whom he had no respect for. He hardly had been with this man more than a few minutes and he already wished he would drop dead.

The result of Legolas' warding off was a sharp and inevitable cuff on the ear before the rope was placed around his neck and cinched tight while Cortanyar held the other end, allowing it to serve as a lead to guide his captive. Legolas cast him a glare of pure contempt and loathing as he looked at the rope placed about his neck as though he were an animal.

"No escapes this time, Elf. You have a date with the scaffolding and you are going to keep it," he growled, giving the leash a sudden and vicious tug and yanking the blonde prince forward a few steps before Legolas found the courage to rebel once more and stop moving. For some odd reason they didn't want to know his name anymore and that disturbed him. "I was hoping you would be this stupid," the man purred and taking a lash from his belt he promptly struck the Elf across his bare shoulders, resulting an audible _smack_. Legolas gave a soft cry that was barely heard as he grimaced. Clenching his bound hands into tight balls, the Elf walked forward a few steps and then a few more, slowly allowing himself to be lead away.

As he walked forward in a haze, the prince wondered dreamily where Aragorn was? He had run but he had been hunted down and killed? Legolas didn't know and the fear of not knowing gnawed away at his heart before wrapping it in darkness and causing his once growing feelings of hope to begin to shrink. He felt more wretched than he had in prison…all because he simply didn't know what had become of Aragorn. The worst thing was not knowing and he felt himself shiver.

Cortanyar looked back, apparently angry. Legolas watched his face contort in rage before he realized that in his daze he had ceased to walk and was no longer following. Suddenly the rope cut into his neck as it was yanked forward with a stunning amount of force. The world began to spin and Legolas felt like he was floating high above the ground like a cloud.

He didn't notice that he was falling until he struck the ground and began to see black spots appearing, blurring his vision which was already moving and changing shape as things merged and spun. Lying on his side, the Elf didn't resist the many hands that began to grab him and lift him up from the muddy earth. He was simply feeling a bit more winded than he had thought from all the kicks and punches he had received.

But there was something else wrong, he noticed when he tried to inhale.

Nothing came into his windpipe. He wheezed and felt his lungs growing tight as they longed for one simple breath that they couldn't have. A slow clarity broke over him, as he understood that he was suffocating, the noose was far too tight. The black spots were merging with yellow ones and he couldn't see anything so he jerked when he felt cold steel brush against his neck. A hand held his head firmly and still while he felt other's pulling at the rope that was slowly killing him.

'I am dying,' a detached voice mused dreamily and he couldn't disagree. Something slithered free of his neck following a loud snap as though something had been pulled apart. The noose was off his neck, Legolas realized with a slight smile but he couldn't pull himself back and even as he felt his lungs fill with air, pumping sweet oxygen into his air deprived body, Legolas went completely limp.

His eyes rolled back into his head and his seemed to stop everything, even breathing. Cortanyar shoved men out of the way and glowered down at the Elf and then at the men around him who had worked to cut the suffocating ropes free. "Well?" he sneered. "He isn't dead, you mindless fools!"

Taking the prone immortal hastily from the arms of the shocked men, the captain carried him to a watering trough that was positioned nearby the inn for convenience purposes.

Without a second thought he dropped the Elf to the ground, noting how the immortal still didn't stir. Then, eyeing his surroundings scrupulously and impatiently he discovered a bucket near one end of the trough. Filling it with the icy cold water he drew it back out and then positioned himself so he was standing over the blonde captive. Emptying the contents of the bucket onto Legolas turned back around and with a scowl filled it a second time.

'Its cold and wet,' Legolas' mind told him in a whine.

'Wake up!' Legolas realized he was shivering and that he felt oddly soggy. Something was hitting him in the face, slapping him and causing him to wince in pain each time as it struck the bruises caused by the cruel booted feet.

'Wake up!' an annoying voice continued to rush through is awareness. Oddly enough it sounded like his own but more shrill and desperate.

Blinking and spluttering water, the blonde being sat up way too fast, sending another wave of dizziness to plague his vision. Moaning, he lay back against the earth once more with a weary sigh as he breathed deeply and shuddered profusely as well as helplessly. Looking up at Cortanyar once he dared to open his eyes, Legolas worked to put the human into focus with the spinning world. It took a few frustrating tries but eventually he was able to see clearly and he glared up indignantly at the captain.

"Oh, its you again," the Elf muttered sardonically. However his words spoke volumes about this contempt and his eyes took on a malicious appearance that nearly made Cortanyar step back.

Smiling devilishly, the man answered back tensely, "aye, it is. Didn't think passing out would get you free, did you?"

"I may be a prisoner, but I am not stupid," Legolas retorted angrily, forcing himself to sit up onto his knees. The process was slow and Cortanyar watched in amusement as the prince shook his hammering head, trying to clear it of the potent headache that it possessed. He felt his fury building again and glancing around at the men he made sure to give every single last one of them a glare to remember. To his own amusement he saw a few withdraw cautiously. A tense and small smile spread across his face.

"Oh, I know you aren't stupid, Elf," Cortanyar returned with an equal smile that Legolas thought had a bit more ice and steel reflecting in it than he felt comfortable seeing. Glancing at two of his men he gave a curt nod and stepped back, watching as Legolas looked around quickly in alarm.

The two warriors quickly came and grabbed Legolas by his upper arms, pulling him roughly to his feet, not caring if they caused any more hurt. Shoving Legolas past the captain, the men began to lead him away. Wondering what was about to happen but unwilling to convey the dread gathering in the depths of his stomach, the prince looked stonily ahead.

O0O0O0O0O0O

Aragorn stopped when he knew he had ditched the men that had been pursuing him. Wearily, he sagged against one of the houses as he hid in the shadows, concealed by the darkness lingering before the dawn. His wounds were catching up and he felt like he might be sick, pass out or die…maybe all three. Sweat beading his brow, the man slid to the ground, kneeling and leaning his head against the building for support.

Legolas was captured, captured for him and that thought hurt, it hurt a lot. He doubted if someone took a spoon and carved his heart from his chest with it that it would hurt as much as it did now. Looking at his hands he saw they were shaking very visibly and their shaking turned into larger and more frequent tremors that ran the length of his body. The next thing he knew he heard a sob come out of nowhere and realized that he was crying softly, drawing large breaths as he did so.

Clenching his hands, the ranger worked to get a hold of his raw emotions and pressed his lips together. He didn't no what they were going to do to Legolas but he had heard the Elf cry out before he…ran. Yes, he had run! He had left this friend to fight alone! Legolas might have wanted it that way but it simply was unacceptable in Aragorn's book. He couldn't erase that soft cry from his mind as he remembered Legolas being grappled by all those men. Who knew what they were doing to the prince right now and here he was, hiding behind a house like a criminal?

Aragorn felt more than disloyal, he felt like a traitor. He had stayed with Legolas and then when they had captured the prince he had ran, ran as quickly as his legs could carry him. Not finding any words to describe his inner misery, Aragorn moaned wondering if he had stayed that things would have worked out differently. Maybe he could have saved his friend and himself, just maybe.

Or even if he couldn't have saved himself he might have been able to spare Legolas.

Valar! These men mean to have Legolas publicly executed like common felon and Elbereth knew how they meant to have that accomplished! He doubted it would be a clean death and he wouldn't put some beforehand torture out of the question for them either.

Anger towards himself and everything that had happened so far seethed in his heart. Eru, he remembered Legolas' hands, burned from scooping the fire out with his bare hands to get to him in time. He knew those would be excruciatingly painful in the near future and he doubted that Legolas was going to get any medical attention.

Legolas had been so steadfast and loyal that it hurt Aragorn to think of the Elf bound or being tortured because he had dared to escape these men and then get captured again for his sake. A feeling was spreading quickly in Aragorn's chest that reminded him of a mirror shattering and the tendril cracks fanning out to the edges before splintering into a thousand shards. 'So this is what it feels like to have a broken heart?' he asked himself in his head. It hurt a whole lot more than he had ever imagined it could. His eyes shut and his brow crinkled as his face became distorted with emotional and physical pain.

At that moment he made a promise. He didn't know how he would keep it, only that he would. He was not going to let Legolas get put to death. He would spare his friend one way or another. If he had to forfeit his own life in the process he could stand that, but what he couldn't stand was someone as true and loyal as Legolas being tortured and murdered because of him.

There were some people he was going to make pay for their dirty work, oh yes, there were quite a few actually. Dorrag was at the top of the list, followed by Sarchel and then by Darcíl and any other Haradrim who had so much as thought of forcing a scream from the Elf.

He then thought of his men. He must get them out as well, he knew. But that was going to be a difficult task because he didn't know the first thing about where they were if you disregarded the fact they were somewhere in Harad. But he was their captain and knew without a second thought he must find them and bring them home to their waiting families. If he didn't he would be a traitor to them as well and he didn't want to twice be committing a treason.

Waiting families….

Elladan and Elrohir! Valar he must he have hurt them deeply. After all he hadn't written home to his father or to his brothers in two years at least. He wouldn't be surprised if they had given him up for dead. Tears fell from his eyes as he realized the pain he must have put them through, however completely unintentional it had been.

Legolas' father, Thranduil must be beside himself right now with pain and emotional torment. Aragorn couldn't imagine the anguish the elder Elf was going through because of the uncertainty of Legolas' absence, not knowing whether his son was alive or dead, free or in pain somewhere on the face of Middle Earth. He knew that Legolas was all Thranduil had left because Legolas had never had any siblings and his mother had been murdered by orcs long ago. If for no one other than Thranduil's sake he had to get Legolas home.

Tears had stopped flowing from his eyes and now they were replaced with a hard and determined look that appeared cold and lethal.

O0O0O0O0O0O

Legolas gazed around the room as he was shoved with his back against the wall and held there with an already bloody blade against the pale skin of his vulnerable throat. He recognized this house very well, it had only been a brief time since he had last been in it, but thanks to Damrod and his sister Mytra he had the opportunity to see it at least once. The windows were shattered out of it and it was barren of much of anything but it seemed to be unburned and relatively unharmed compared to what the rest of the town had suffered. Wincing as the blade slipped slightly and very nearly cut into the soft skin of his neck, the prince thought grimly, 'wonderful, this has to be the fourth knife put to my throat in less than a few weeks!'

A tiny voice in his head was about to point out that one of those threatening knives had been one he had put their himself when his thoughts were rudely interrupted as the man pinning him roughly to the wall shook him and growled angrily, "try to get away Elf, and I won't hesitate to put you in your place." Legolas felt the weight of the threat as being genuine but it didn't necessarily worry him and in fact, one part of him was laughing insulting at the idea. That must be the insane half of his mind, he told himself wryly before taking the risk to show his disapproving attitude towards his capture.

Openly sneering, the prince snorted to show his doubt before he was backhanded for his insolence and evident disrespect of his captors. Ignoring the feeling of a hot flush rushing to his cheeks, the Elf turned his attention to the men to his right. He sighed when he noticed they were pounding two rings into the wall, obviously meant to have his wrists tied to and convenient, they were going to be above his head. Groaning silently, Legolas realized he might as well accept the fact that these warriors were going to have more 'fun' with him before the night was out. He had expected as much but that didn't mean he was about to welcome it.

The rings were large and iron, he noted dryly and probably the spikes being used to drive the chained part of them into the wall were not going to easily be removed. As he clenched his hands he nearly jumped in sudden pain as the reality of the burns he had managed to acquire became all too real and he moaned softly and nearly inaudibly despite himself. But there was one comfort, a twisted comfort, he couldn't feel his fingers fully and he could tell the circulation was definitely cut off by the harshly tight bonds they were held behind his back with.. One thing was certain; if he continued to find new ways to get his hands bound mercilessly then he was going to lose control of his fingers one of these days. Then he would kill Aragorn, he decided with an inward chuckle. After all, it was the reckless human's fault he got into these messes.

Deciding to let the men know that he didn't appreciate being held prisoner and forced to be silent, the Elf kicked out, catching the holding him against the wall by the legs and causing him to stumble over. Legolas knew he wasn't going to get away of course, but he simply felt that he must let them know he was not a happy Elf and that unhappy Elves were not good things to put into custody. As he had thought, the human obviously had never truly worked with knives before and missed slitting his throat before slamming to the ground hard.

Looking up at the Elf with pure and unaltered rage he stood up slowly, eyes locked on Legolas the entire time as he let them bore into the prince's azure ones that had taken on a smirking expression. Deciding that he didn't like being smirked at and abused by a prisoner of all people, the man grabbed Legolas by the shoulder once he was on his feet and threw him to the ground. Ordinarily Legolas would have been able to counter balance himself and remain on his feet but he was still dazed from the abuse he had received earlier and he stumbled a few feet before falling to his knees with a slight and short lived cry.

The man he had tripped stormed over, against the advice of his companions and glared down at Legolas with pure hatred in his eyes that had gone completely dark with wrath. Drawing back his foot he delivered a surprisingly strong and well aimed kick to the Elf's already beaten ribs, making the bound captive hiss and grit his teeth at the abuse he was receiving.

'Well,' an annoying voice in Legolas' head mused as the other half groaned. 'He was completely serious about his threat from earlier.' Wincing as another blow commenced and slammed into a half-healed cut from his first interrogation, Legolas heard someone give a muffled cry of pain. Curling in on himself he realized that the one who had cried out had been no other than himself. Maybe testing the man's patience was not the smartest thing to have down, he mulled the idea over in his mind. And he also made a mental note that men with hurt pride were very dangerous beings.

More well aimed and calculated kicks rammed into his gut and Legolas found that with his hands bound he had no way to ward off the punishment. And he was beginning to understand the severity of it as he could have sworn by Elbereth that he had felt one of his organs come near to breaking.

The warrior watched with wrathful pleasure and a wicked light in his eyes as the captive's feeble attempts to protect himself were becoming weaker and weaker. The prince was lying on the ground with his cheek against the floor and his face pale and contorted in misery. 'He is going to kill you,' the annoying voice told him detachedly. And Legolas decided that the annoying voice was probably right.

Trying one more time to curl into himself the blonde captive decided that it was pointless and was only causing him to exert more energy that he desperately needed to conserve. But even as the Elf lay on the ground, accepting the kicks that were now placed at his face and chest, the man didn't stop and continued on his merciless rampage.

Black spots began to blur and cover things in odd patches that were transparent and sometimes not. Blinking didn't clear them and Legolas wondered if he actually were dying because of this torment that was being inflicted. Squinting and crying out whilst jerking his head as the toe of one of the men's boots came in sharp and abrupt contact with his lip, Legolas wished he would simply pass out and that the pain would end.

The black patches became larger and took up more of his vision as sounds began to drain out and everything seemed to be going mute, like he had lost this hearing again. Suddenly a dingy yellow blotch swirled into view, placing itself in the center of the black ones before it was followed by another blotch of the same color. Dreamily, the Elf watched them, making use of anything that could take his mind off his pain. He suddenly became aware that he had cried out rather loudly.

Breathing accelerating at a far too rapid rate, Legolas was about to cry out again but then he felt choked and everything began to swiftly fade into the black and yellow spots he had been seeing.

The man charged with watching the Elf while the manacles were put in place glared down at his limp prisoner before one of the men with him looked at what had transpired with wide eyes. "You killed him!"

"No I didn't, he's out cold, but not dead," protested the other, giving Legolas a light dig in the ribs with his boot. But the prince's face had paled to a dingy gray, however his lips were not blue but they were bleeding in small trickles. Grabbing the Elven prince by his arms he pulled him up and proceeded to drag him over to where the rings were secured to the wooden wall. Damn Elf was heavier than he had thought….weren't these things supposed to be light?

O0O0O0O0O

Aragorn walked around another building, keeping to the shadows as much as possible. He had a sinking feeling in his gut as he watched the soldiers round up people who were till in the village for one odd reason or another and deliver a huge threatening spiel to them about the rewards for treason. Fortunately he saw no children and so maybe they had all escaped in time. 'I almost felt a sliver of hope,' he mused in mild frustration as he continued walking.

Stopping briefly by the corner of one building he stared curiously at the ground where he saw a good deal of red blood, bright red blood. Not that this was in any way shape or form uncommon in this type of situation but he couldn't help but feel slightly drawn to its presence and he walked over, coming to crouch beside it. Staring at it with narrowed and wondering eyes, the man was about to dismiss it and continue on his way when he felt something reach over and grab his boot.

Jumping in astonishment, Aragorn saw the thing that had grasped his boot was a hand, and a bloody hand at that! Following the length of the arm with is eyes alone, the ranger quickly saw whom it belonged to and he felt his jaw drop in surprise. Damrod! He thought Legolas had killed this man and halfway hoped he had. But still, maybe if he hadn't died there was a reason for it, something to do with fate, perhaps. Unsure, Aragorn shook his head quickly before he asked, "I thought you were dead?"

"Where…is…the Elf?" gasped the man, barely able to breath let alone speak. Aragorn could distinctly hear his chest rattling from the wound he saw with a creeping red stain on the man's chest. So the blood he had spotted on the ground had belonged to him?

"He is…I don't know…" Aragorn half-lied, not knowing what this man should be permitted to know and not know. He couldn't get over how pale Damrod's face had turned. It was a ghost of what he had been prior. A sick feeling began to gather in Aragorn's stomach and the more he tried desperately to dispel it, the worse it became. Agitating things, sick stomachs that refuse to quite.

"He is captured again…isn't he?" The man spoke as though in a haze and looking at the other human's head Aragorn could easily see why. The hair was matted with sticky blood and it looked as though he had taken a sharp blow from somewhere. The wound to his chest probably wasn't doing much to help the situation either. With a grim expression Aragorn guessed rather quickly and uncomfortably who made this wound.

Aragorn remained silent, not knowing what to say. Unfortunately, his silence gave everything away and Damrod nodded in understanding. "He is…..he managed…to get to you…though," Damrod closed his eyes wearily as pain washed over and flooded his dulling senses like it had been doing for the past few hours since he had regained consciousness.

Aragorn nodded quietly and then looked at the streets, flooding with Haradrim soldiers. He had to get moving, he really had to. Damrod kept his eyes closed as he spoke but his voice conveyed everything that Aragorn needed to know. "He is a good friend…don't lose him….friendssss…cannot be….r-r-replaced." Damrod still loathed Elves and rangers but he knew that these two had some special bond between them and he couldn't help pitying them just a little. Besides, it didn't matter who he hated or cared for, he was dying.

"Rest assured, I won't let him die," Aragorn said quietly. "I promise that."

Damrod would have shook his head if he had been able to truly move but his muscles were failing him. Forcing himself to form words and try and be somewhat articulate, the dying warrior opened his eyes, a strange sense of urgency in them. "You don't…understand. Dorrag will…. Will…. Break him." He drew a guttural and shaking breath as he felt his organs shutting down and his blood turning a fascinating temperature akin to ice. He had never felt this way before…it was frightening if not interesting. "The Elf will be….killed…in the end."

Aragorn's voice turned hard in a way it had hardly ever been before. His eyes looked like the coldest stones in existence set in the iciest lake in the dead of winter. "Never."

Damrod stopping striving to convey anything to the ranger but closed his eyes. He had never heard such cold and merciless determination come from _anyone_. He had never known one word could carry so much weight and deep emotion. And he wouldn't be surprised if part of the weight it carried was the weight of truth, at least of judging by the tenacity in one's voice was any guide. But then again, the man knew that Dorrag was not one to give up, not at all, and he would rather die than allow himself to submit to failure. But hearing the frostbitten conviction in Aragorn's voice, he knew that the ranger was of the same frame of mind as he guessed the Elf was. One of those three was going to lose…was going to die.

Die…

Detachedly, Damrod became aware that he was feeling very tired, like he was draining. Black spots colored his vision and he realized everything was fading into the background and his heart was laboring to beat…it actually hurt. He felt like he couldn't breath as though his lungs were as limp and useless as wet bread still soaking in water. But then again he felt like he had been filled with water at one point and then wrung out and hung out on a clothesline before being snapped around by the wind….

The black spots took over his entire field of vision….

Aragorn watched as Damrod drew one last breath and then his chest deflated and he slipped away beyond the circles of the earth. As Aragorn looked at the dead man he knew with an uncomfortable and undeniable feeling that Legolas had killed him…had tortured him. But Legolas had done it to find him, to save him from the soldiers. But there was a small comfort that was still lurking in his heart, that Legolas would never kill a man unless he had to and there was absolutely no other option, or unless he was severely stressed. Legolas did have old memories that reached far back…. But surely he would not let them cloud his reason? Aragorn couldn't believe that and standing up, the ranger decided that the sooner he was out of the city, the better it would be.

He would intercept his friend and the convoy before they reached Sygul and Legolas was put to death or worse. He didn't know if he would live, but he knew that Legolas would, he just knew it.

**TBC…..Please review! Please! Thank you! **

**Thanks for all the reviews from chapter 21. **


	23. What Was Remembered

_**CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE**_

What Was Remembered 

Pain…. Dizziness…. Bewilderment…. Legolas opened his eyes slowly, one at a time and realized that it was still night and that he was hanging from something. Or at least, the upper half of him was dangling; his arms were above his head. And, he realized angrily, that his fingers were cold tipped and numb, he couldn't feel them. It wasn't that he was unused to having unreasonably tight bonds placed on his hands; on the contrary, he knew the feeling all-too well. Sighing openly, because he really didn't see anyone in the room, not that his vision was entirely clear, but he doubted from the dead silence that anyone was around, the Elf struggled meagerly with the ropes and discovered that as usual, that it was hopeless.

And no matter how many times he had discovered a situation to be completely hopeless, he could feel the icy feeling clenching his stomach again and he resented the fact that he never could get used to these difficulties enough to not get an anxious feeling. That was just annoying, he decided without thinking about it twice. Twisting in his bonds he realized something else that he knew he should have expected all along.

It actually was very degrading that he had never thought of it.

His hands were burned, and burned to a near critical degree. They hadn't hurt too much when he had received the burns thankfully, because he knew the pain of it would probably have made him fall flat on his face into the mud in front of all the soldiers. But not that the nerves were not so shocked it he had been unconscious for the rest of the night until now, they were sending his body unambiguous distress signals that he simply could not push aside.

He winced as he felt the ropes create a horrible pressure on his burns and sent sharp and flaring pain through his hands and even pulsing through his head for some odd reason. Closing his eyes, Legolas concentrated on his breathing. In…out…in…out…in…out…

It was working a little, he told himself after what seemed an age but in fact had only lasted near two minutes.

Gritting his teeth, so as not to give a small cry, the blonde captive tried desperately to rise up a little from the floor and get feeling back into his legs. Figuring out very quickly that this was no possible if he wished to maintain consciousness, the prince relaxed and let his head sag back against the wall.

As if on cue and door slammed. Sending vibrations through the wall and creating a new pounding headache, it cause Legolas to grimace before he opened his eyes, which he hadn't realized to have been shut. Seeing the Haradrim captain standing before him with a smirking grin on his face, the Elf did his very best to squelch a tiny, and depressing voice that said, 'you are in big trouble…again.'

He was really beginning to loathe that little voice with a passion. He especially felt he 'again' part had not been necessary for the said voice to point out.

"Have a nice night Elf?" Cortanyar asked, as he squatted down to look Legolas in the eye in a way that made the warnings running through Legolas' mind trigger off another round of anxiety. When the prince didn't respond the Haradrim man only smiled and shook his head in amusement and perhaps slight frustration. "The silent treatment, eh, Elf? I though only children played that game with each other. Come, we are adults, we can talk."

"I have nothing to say other than this: you and your people are crazy. Your poor excuse for a prince is as mad as a hatter and that is putting it nicely." Legolas decided before he spoke that being blunt may not be the best choice but he really didn't have anything to lose. He knew he was going to face more torture and die, so he might as well tell them exactly what he thought of them. "And, and did I mention that you are all going to pay? Sooner or later, you will." Then he quickly added, "and hopefully sooner."

Cortanyar didn't lose his cool but rather seemed even more amused by his captive's tirade. "So you don't think your friend is coming for you then?"

"I think he will try, but I doubt he will succeed before it is too late," the Elf said emotionlessly, draining his eyes of all emotion so that his thoughts were more or less unreadable.

"Well, you are right, he would be too late, but it isn't like that matters…"

Legolas jerked visibly and tightened his hands into balls despite the pain it caused him. "Why! What are you going to do?"

"He will be dead before you step a single booted foot on the scaffolding, Elf. There will be no one to save you." He smiled coldly as he watched the prince's eyes fill with dread, not for himself, but for Aragorn. "Oh, and did I tell you of how you are going to be publicly put to death, hmmm?" He inquired, taking some of Legolas' blonde hair and fingering it thoughtfully as he spoke, "you are going to be be-headed. Have you ever seen someone lose their head, Elf?" His smile became malicious and Legolas remained quiet.

"Well, rumor has it that your head searches for its body. It only lasts a few seconds of course, but then you see your corpse and then, you die, taking that image with you," he sneered as he noticed that no matter how much the blonde being had tried to hide his fear, he was gradually becoming too afraid to keep it in the dark. "But I think that having you be-headed is far too nice, Elf. I think that some sort of punishment should be administered first and publicly before you are taken from the circles of the world."

"Do what you like," Legolas retorted calmly, feeling himself slowly going eerily calm and feeling nothing. He was going numb. It was like the calm before a battle, the calm that gave him a center of direction, the calm that made everything seem easier to bear.

"I would but I have authorities to answer to, my superiors, or so they are called," he finished bitterly and succinctly. Legolas more than picked up on the man's sense of hate and blatant disrespect for his lord, Prince Dorrag. He looked at the abundant purple bruises that covered the Elf's pale cheeks and abdomen, a result of the stubborn and resistant attitude the blonde being possessed. "I still think that having escaped and resisted recapture calls for some form of immediate punishment."

Legolas' impassive expression was expected and the man came over and Legolas didn't even realize what was going on. It all happened too fast, way too fast. He saw Cortanyar draw his hand back and he saw the angered and blackened look upon his face, but then he heard an audible and sharp crack, saw stars explode in the front of his eyes before he realized that his head had been snapped to the side. Blood ran from his bottom lip and down his chin. That was at least the fourth time his lip had been broken at the hands of these men. He heard someone gasp in shock and cursed inwardly when he came to the alarming conclusion that that someone had been him.

But the blows didn't cease there, as Legolas stared at Cortanyar in shock but with fierce eyes he was struck across the face with an open hand again. This time he managed to brace himself halfway and so he simply grimaced and hissed rather than cry out in quick and brief pain. But his face abrasions were not taking this well and the bruises hurt…a lot, a lot more than he was willing to admit.

The third blow was hard enough to make him give a soft and nearly imperceptible whimper that he couldn't help and he felt like he wasn't able to breathe. Drawing a guttural breath, similar to a sob, the captive growled thickly, "leave me alone." But his words did not have the ring of defiance or strength he wished they possessed. He was working not to pass out due to his injuries and the pain they brought about in relentless waves.

As Cortanyar watched the Elf gasp for breath, trying to regain his composure, the man thought with regret how he wished he had enough time to perform even minor experiments. But he did not. He knew that Dorrag wanted the Elf brought in alive tomorrow evening and brought out for execution the following dawn. Shaking his head he tried to tell himself it wouldn't do to experiment on the Elf now but his pride was simply not ready to admit that.

Not willing to allow his prisoner to see that he was grating on his nerves, the man shook his head and forced himself to turn away and walked over to the door in long strides. Legolas watched curiously and his Elven perception that helped him to read hearts at times helped him to see what should have been obvious. This man wanted to torment him and was not allowed. He was miserable and smirking at the human's back, Legolas narrowed his eyes, and muttered resistantly, "you will never break me, human."

As soon as Cortanyar was gone, doing Valar knew what and Legolas was certain he didn't want to know, the Elf began to tug at his bonds and winced as he remembered his burned hands, whose pain had been temporarily lost at the extent of his other wounds and troubles. 'Why did it have to be burns?' he asked himself inwardly and rather grouchily.

Not tat he regretted for a minute how he had managed to receive said wounds, but he did regret their existence. He regretted it greatly.

Realizing once again that these bonds were not going to break and that he was tied here expertly and without flaw, the prince sighed and settled down against the wall, biting his lower lip thoughtfully and wondering if he was going to get himself out of this nasty mess. He couldn't even remember how he had gotten into it to begin with.

Oh, yes. Now he remembered, he had followed Estel, the person who attracted the most trouble if you disregarded Glorfindel. Chuckling, Legolas reminded himself that he had chosen to come with Aragorn so therefore this was his entire fault, at least for the most part. And, he realized as he assessed the situation further, that he actually had caused Aragorn to be tortured because the men had wanted his name, had wanted to know where he came from. If he hadn't been captured then Aragorn wouldn't have been tortured.

'But,' his logical frame of mind attempted to reason with him. 'You did not torture him, those men did. You couldn't have stopped.'

Legolas felt the horrible and hurtful feeling of tears pricking just beneath his closed eyelids. Clenching his eyes shut as he tried to stop the tears he only succeeded in squeezing them out and causing them to run down his cheeks, leaving little dirty rivulets he could not wipe away and would be forced to display for everyone to see.

He missed his friend, he missed his family. And the worst thing was, he didn't know for certain if Aragorn was alive or dead. He wished to the Valar that the man would be safe for once in his life and do the wise thing and run. But no, Aragorn was far more stubborn than that and if the man came back for him and got killed the Elf swore he would never forgive himself. And if they made it out alive, he decided with a decided glare that no one saw he would kill the man himself. Yes, strangling him with his bare hands sounded like a good method.

Yawning, the Elf realized how truly weary he was. Leaning his head back against the wall gently, so another hammering headache would not start up anew, Legolas stared up at the ceiling. It was boring ceiling, he determined after about three minutes of just watching the wood and a tiny dust spider. He sighed as the dust spider scuttled into a corner and disappeared from view. Puffing his cheeks with boredom and exhaling the air slowly, he closed his eyes and tried to imagine his home.

Though he hadn't been there in two years, everything was crystal clear in his mind. The memories of Elves were very long and Legolas' were uncorrupted and as fresh as though he had been there yesterday. He remembered _his room_, _his bedroom_, with its soft bed and the designs on the ceiling. He recalled how the songbirds had woken him in the morning and he recalled dawn's rays on the soft boughs of the trees in the early morning hours.

He remembered hunting with Rothinzil and he recalled the enchanted streams and how Roth had once tripped into one and not woken for weeks, much to Helluin's unceasing frustration.

But then he crinkled his forehead as his memories of his father came to the front of his mind. He felt guilt weighing on his heart once more and he realized that his father had probably given him up for dead. He hadn't meant to put his father through that sort of pain. Realizing that he probably would never have a chance to say he was sorry, Legolas felt his throat constrict, understanding he would never see his father again. And he didn't know how he could go to Mandos' Halls and look his mother in the eye after what he had done.

Shame flushed his cheeks and his eyebrows came together, creating a definite crease, a sure sign of his discomfort and sorrow.

He had abandoned his father, the person his mother had loved, the man who had raised him and taught him wrong from right. He had been like a child and stormed out instead of being reasonable. Shock took him and his breathing increased as his guilt came to a breaking point.

O0O

Fumbling in the desert, Aragorn wiped his brow as he cursed the stones that covered the sandy earth for what was near the tenth time since he had reached this cursed place. His face glistened with sweat and blood as the late morning's rays fell full upon it, nothing between them and his flushing skin. Sunburn was inevitable and he knew it. The small voice inside his head groaned in anticipation and he glared at the world about himself sullenly. It was just his sort of luck that the day he would be traveling in the desert would be the day the sunshine would come out.

Stumbling over another stone Aragorn was beginning to realize quickly how this was one of the worst mistakes he had ever made, well if you cast out the decision to come to Gondor at all and get caught up in the Haradrim conflicts. He would have been off much better, and so would Legolas, if he had never gone South and waited for his brothers. But no, he had go and prove what he was capable of. An insulting chorus of unmistakable laughter came from the sardonic portion of his thinking and he pushed it aside angrily as he forced himself to walk a little further.

Though he didn't know why he was bothering to walk any further, because he was most certainly lost beyond his knowledge to find where he was. When he didn't want a guide, they were here there and everywhere offering their services for far too high a price but when he desperately needed one there was not one to be found. It was frustrating, really.

Stopping, the ranger sighed and stared at the sand before him. He had not even bothered to find which way he had started from so for all he knew he could be heading totally the opposite way he needed to go. This idea did not appeal to him in any way, shape or form and before he went any farther he guessed he might want to collect his bearings and figure out exactly where he was.

There was just one real problem with that.

There was no way for him to gather a sense of direction even slightly resembling accuracy. There were plenty of stones, more than he had ever thought to see in a lifetime, but unfortunately the land was too dry for moss to grow and at this time of the year it was too wet so he couldn't tell which was North by the rocks. Not that it was always precise, but it was better than absolutely nothing.

Suddenly, he saw something large and dark in the distance slumped over in the sand and rock. Actually, the more he squinted his eyes against the sun and studied it; the more he realized it was in the likeness of a human. But who would be out in the desert like this he couldn't imagine. Maybe he had fled the destruction and total sack of Astroggen, Aragorn could not be sure.

But knowing this could very well be both he and Legolas' last chance the determined man was willing to risk seeing if the man was alive or as he feared, dead. Inclining his head to one side, Aragorn gave him a cautious and scrupulous look ver, making sure that the man was weaponless. He grimaced openly when he realized that the other was in possession of a sword, but it was halfway under him and most likely of no use.

Something about him looked familiar, though he wasn't sure what it was. Suddenly he knew, he remembered where he had seen this man before.

This was Darcíl, though what he was doing out here was anyone's guess and Aragorn wasn't even about to try.

Taking a few careful steps forward, the ranger strode beside the fallen Haradrim captain and stared down at his still form. Not knowing what else to do, he reached down and touched Darcíl's shoulder gently. But, Aragorn noted his fingers came off grey with ash and soot that had to come from a reasonably good-sized fire. Wrinkling his nose in curiosity and anxiety that he felt rising, Aragorn watched to see if Darcíl awoke.

There was a slight stirring as the Haradrim captain sensed a presence above him. His dark eyes fluttered open and he blinked up at Aragorn in disbelief. "Its you," was all he said and his tone was flat and emotionless as he didn't move from the way he lay sprawled on the ground.

"Expecting someone else?" the ranger, asked with due precautions, circling Darcíl where he lay on the ground quietly, just following Aragorn with his eyes. He had good reason not to trust this man and yet one single good reason to trust him.

"Some soldiers come to kill me, perhaps," he groaned as he tried to rise and felt how stiff his body was. Aragorn stopped circling him and realized how dehydrated Darcíl truly was and he took careful note of the emotional trauma the other man seemed to be experiencing. The ashes, the smoke smell that he strongly detected…it all made sense…his family was murdered.

"I need your help-"

"Where's the Elf?" the other asked, interrupting rudely and abruptly without too much thought since his head felt like it was detached from his body. The world spun for a moment and he paused, waiting for it to whirl back into focus and stop spinning in odd rotations about his head.

"He is recaptured. But that's just it, I have to get him back, you helped us once-"

"The circumstances were entirely different. You had a chance. And, apparently you can't even follow a set of explicit instructions!" he winced as he finally managed to find his feet but he wavered as things swerved in and out of his vision for a few seconds that seemed like life-ages.

Aragorn bit his lip thoughtfully and in mounting frustration. Here he had found someone who could help and he was being completely uncooperative! This was just the sort of luck he and Legolas would run into. "Please, you don't understand-"

"He is your friend? And he is dear to you?" scoffed Darcíl bitterly. "Well even those we love die at some point. Believe me, I know," he added in disdain, anguish evident on his pain twisted features.

"I can't understand the pain you know but you have chance for vengeance if nothing else-" Aragorn crossed his arms in aggravation as he was interrupted once more.

"What good is revenge, ranger? Where does it lead but to more misery and destruction for all concerned?" he inquired boldly and in hot anger.

"Then help for Harad's sake. Dorrag will have you groveling before Sauron. Do you not realize that Elves like…my friend, and the men of Gondor, are the ones keeping Sauron at bay! He would turn you all into slaves!" the ranger finally began to seethe angrily in his turn as he began to feel his hopelessness and helplessness dragging his heart towards the earth as though gravity was trying to tear it from his chest. It was like weight pulling him to the depths of an ocean where he would naturally drown.

"Do you think I don't realize that? What do you take me for? Stupid?" he asked sharply, glaring into Aragorn's eye which were in turn trying to bore into his. His lips pressed into a thin white line of exasperation as he realized this tenacious ranger wasn't about to stop his insisting.

"I know that you know," Aragorn responded evenly, trying hard not to punch Darcíl right in the nose. "That is why I am asking you for help." He watched with concern as Darcíl tried to walk and nearly fell flat onto his face. But few more steps and beyond looking fatigued he looked in a reasonably healthy state all things considered. Aragorn was pleasantly surprised. He really was.

But normally things such as being 'pleasantly surprised' didn't last very long. He knew that, unfortunately, from far too much personal experience.

"I am sorry but I cannot aid you. If Cortanyar has captured your friend, trust me when I say there is no getting him back. Anyway, he will be dead before we have a chance to get halfway up the scaffolding to save him," reasoned Darcíl logically and rather calmly. He shook his head to try without success to dispel a throbbing headache that was robbing him of his senses. This really was the last thing he needed besides a stubborn and mouthy ranger trailing him….

"You must! I will get my men free, they can create a diversion," Aragorn offered, hopefully.

"And why would I want to free people who have slaughtered my countrymen?" Darcíl asked as he began to walk away, going at a reasonably brisk pace plainly try to leave Aragorn behind.

Not be put off so easily, Aragorn gave the other man an agitated glare before stumbling after Darcíl and keeping up as best as he was able. The Haradrim captain was better fed and in entirely better shape than he was. After all, Darcíl hadn't been tortured for hours straight and starved.

"Alright, but all the same, you at least have to help me to get my friend back!" Aragorn plead, not caring how whiny, childish or weak he sounded. It didn't matter to him and he would crawl on his belly and grovel at Darcíl's feet if it meant that the man would help him save his friend.

The men, he decided, he would free himself.

At the moment, though, Darcíl shot the ranger and incredulous and nearly pitiful look. "Please, he has a family to return to!" Aragorn tried again, shouting in his anxiety and frustration. His voice echoed slightly off a few large rocks.

"So did I, and your point is?" Darcíl stopped and frowned, his dark eyes narrowed and Aragorn could have sworn he saw a small flame beneath them.

"Everybody, disregarding your prince and a few others around here, has a heart and can feel. Do want them go through the same kind of pain you are experiencing?"

"Ranger, let me make this abundantly clear," Darcíl growled bitterly and his tone was acidic enough to make Aragorn feel slightly ill. "I do not love your kind or the Elves and if he had been putting your friend to death simply to be putting him to death for being an Elf, I would kill you right now, without any hesitation. But as he wants you both dead to make us all bow to him and worship him in fear and wonder, I cannot kill you in anyway that would not be aiding to him."

He should have expected this speech, and in a way he had. Aragorn continued to keep his arms crossed before he tried once more to reason with the other human. "Then help your country and stop him from killing the Elf! This isn't revenge, it would be justice!" Although, Aragorn knew without much thought that it was treading a thin and easily crossed line between the two options. Just then, he began to feel dizzy his weariness and wounds were catching up with him.

Darcíl looked totally emotionless for a few seconds as he thought things over. But then his face darkened and he blinked back his growing anger towards Dorrag and all his wickedness. Not exactly feeling comfortable helping the ranger but knowing of nothing else that sounded like a better option, the Haradrim captain looked at him quizzically. "Do you even have a plan?" he asked concisely and rather dubiously.

Aragorn didn't appreciate the incredulous tone in the other man's inquiry but he answered civilly as possible. "I meant to intercept the convoy taking him to Sygul-"

Insulting laughter coming from Darcíl, who was now just chuckling wryly and rather rudely, interrupted him. "You wouldn't be able to do that. It will be armed to the teeth and you would fight very valiantly and die very swiftly as they laugh at your stupidity."

Aragorn bristled inwardly at the reproach and he felt hot color come to flush his cheeks with humiliation as he realized how stupid that plan had actually been. Elladan was right, he never did truly think things through at times. Smacking himself upside the head mentally and condemning his impulsiveness, the ranger gave Darcíl a level glare. "Well then what do _you_ suggest?" he couldn't keep the suspicion out of his voice.

Darcíl returned the glare before he shrugged and then said slowly, as he began to think mindfully about what steps they could take and the risks they would run. "The scaffoldings are usually built just outside the city. Of course they would have guards, lots of them. But," he frowned and shook his head. "We couldn't get up to him without being shot."

"Well then _what_ are we to do? I have already left my friend to torment, I will _not_ leave him to _death_!" Aragorn promised angrily, his silver eyes catching flame and taking on a flinty look. He would go by himself it he had to, though help would be nice, if help it really was.

"If we killed the executioner and perhaps Cortanyar and Dorrag then we can maybe buy enough time to get the Elf off the podium and into the crowd where hopefully we can get lost."

Aragorn nodded as he thought through Darcíl's suggestion slowly and carefully. It may work, but there were so many complications that could go wrong and end up with everyone dead. "But will the scaffolding not be heavily guarded as well? If this is such an important occasion." A smile suddenly began to tenaciously pull at Aragorn's lips and at length he let it show in his face. "I think I may have a plan." The ranger nearly chuckled as he imagined Legolas saying, "you? A plan? Manwë help us, every one!"

"Well," Darcíl said walking forward a few small steps and then turning around in his left heel. "Let's hear it."

"Dorrag wants me dead, correct? I don't think he would pass up an opportunity to kill me on sight. What if I was to appear coming for my friend's rescue and was spotted? I led some guards on a chase, cutting my friend lose as soon as I can. Astorggen was just attacked. Surely there will be people that have escaped and who would love to ruin Dorrag's plans, maybe they will aid us."

Darcíl shook his head before he said, "maybe, but they have their own troubles now, manly keeping their families out of dodge. I know my brother has out sister and her son to think of." He looked at Aragorn's face and his eyes darkened with suspicion as he saw the mournful and pitying look on the ranger's features. He knew it could mean more than one thing but he had a sinking feeling in his stomach as dread gathered itself in a tight and unrelenting knot. "You know of my brother," he ground out between clenched teeth. His lips pressed into a tight, white line of foreboding and he watched as Aragorn nodded curtly, walking around him a few small steps.

"I _knew_ your brother, Darcíl," answered the ranger quietly, hating to tell the man this and fearing that it would interfere with his decision to get Legolas back. Especially if he knew how his brother had died…. But Aragorn had to tell him, his conscience wouldn't allow him to do otherwise no matter how much he tried to squelch it through rationalizing everything. It would be at unrest until he told the entire truth.

He watched as the color visibly drained from the Haradrim captain's face, like color fading from a flower's pedal, leaving it white and translucent. Aragorn wondered if the other man was assuming more than he had said and so the dark-haired ranger quickly added in hushed tones, "but Mytra and her son are well as far as I know. They took a convoy to Mysol."

Darcíl said nothing but his eyes started to glisten and he shook his head numbly. He couldn't believe it. Damrod was so careful, so very careful. He wouldn't have been killed unless someone he had trusted had killed him or he was caught off guard because things took a very unexpected turn. Glaring at Aragorn incredulously, the Haradrim captain asked darkly and a bit threateningly with his menacing eyes boring into Aragorn's silver ones, "how was it he died, ranger?"

"He died because he made a stupid mistake and that's all I know," Aragorn uttered softly, watching Darcíl's gaze waver slightly in distress and disappointment. "Mourning isn't going to help anything. If you help me get my friend back I will not engage your troupes in their lands anymore. I will take my men and leave. However, if they come into Gondor or anywhere else, that's an entirely different story."

"I will help you, I just want this all to be over with. But if you go against your pact, I will kill you, understand? And I will turn that Elf into a slave and sell him where I want. I _will_ break him. Am I clear or do I need to repeat myself?" he spat angrily. The more logical and stubborn part of his brain was telling him not to agree with any of this. But without those Gondorian troupes helping there was no way to save the Elf and thus save Harad form the clutches of Dorrag.

"Explicitly clear," Aragorn answered calmly, all things considered. But then his voice took on a serious and eerily flat tone. "Now uphold your end of the bargain and help me get my men free. If you don't eventually Gondor will seek retribution and it will be harsh. The Lord Echthelion is not one to let his soldiers get captured and tortured without seeking revenge."

"I have known that for some time. If it had been me in charge you, that Elf, and your entire battalion of men would have all been killed, quickly and cleanly." He drew a deep heavy sigh and rolled his shoulders slowly before he shrugged and muttered, "I am not one for diplomacy. I am a soldier and I do what I have to in order to win a war. My talent doesn't lie in manipulation." He frowned darkly and stared at Aragorn hard, as if trying to read his thoughts that were buried deep, deep in places that he hardly opened for himself to read.

"Manipulation isn't a talent," Aragorn said firmly with a callous face of apathy that could be described as cold, pushing all thoughts of Erestor's skills aside. "It is a curse." His eyes turned back behind him, to where he was almost one hundred percent certain that Legolas was and was being tortured. He knew Dorrag's men wouldn't be pleased about the chase Legolas had leaded them on and he knew that the Elf had made a horrible mistake allowing himself to be recaptured. Shaking his head ruefully inside as he mulled everything over, the man hoped to Manwë that his friend would not resist too much, he feared the punishment would be more than Legolas could undertake.

"It all depends on how you look at it," Darcíl mumbled, eyeing Aragorn as they started swiftly towards the outskirts of Sygul. His gaze was filled with more than mistrust and leeriness towards the ranger.

O0O

Legolas had managed to get his emotions under what he thought was complete control before Cortanyar came strutting haughtily back in with his cold eyes looking satisfyingly frustrated, Legolas noted as he leaned against the wall, quietly observing. Biting his lower lips he chewed on it as he heard Cortanyar muttered disdainfully, "why do we play these foolish games? Burning the village to the ground and killings its people would have served us far better." He fixed his menacing and malicious expression to Legolas as if to try and intimidate him with its fierce potency. "And I think it would have served us far better to turn you into a miserable and groveling slave and take your broken form back to your people rather than allow you to be a martyr!"

Legolas shifted his face away, choosing to openly ignore and defy the man since he now realized that talking caused entirely more pain than he need go through. Shamefully, that was a lesson he knew these men had wanted him to learn and a hot and bitter anger burned his heart as he thought about how he had submitted like whipped cur to a cruel master. Before the logical part of his thinking could convict the impulsive part of his thinking with reason it had already taken control. "Unfortunately for you, you are not in charge_, Captain_." His put a smirking emphases on the word and rank of 'captain', watching out of the corner of his eye for Cortanyar's expression, which he more than expected to be wrathful.

He was all too right in his assumption and he grimaced mentally as the man came over and glowered down at him, his face glowing with a dark spite, allowing Legolas to know that he was about to do something painful. Looking at Legolas' hands, chained above his head to the links, the Haradrim captain smiled icily and touched one of Legolas' inflamed fingers roughly, noting with pleasure how the prince jerked in sudden pain. "These were dislocated at one time," his insight startled the prince, who quickly diverted his eyes to the floor to hide his spiking fear that was wrapping itself around his heart to strangle it like binding cords.

"And they have been burned as well. You could lose control of your fingers, Elf." He gripped Legolas' right forefinger and began to bend it. Legolas jerked upward as though he had been stabbed in the back and he went completely rigid as the color drained from his face quickly. His breathing began to speed up as his body reacted to the excruciating pain he was experiencing. "Does it hurt, perhaps?" the man jeered down at the immortal, whose face was drawn, his nostrils flaring as he tried and tried without success to control his quick intake of breath.

"Stop," the Elf tried to command his captor, but it came out more like begging than a mandate, much to his disappointment and shame. He tried to pull his hand free but it only brought more and more pain with every single little struggle he dared to make. His cheeks flushed with shame while the rest of him paled in anguish. Cortanyar smiled as he watched the emotions that could clearly be read across every feature of the fair-being's face as though the prince was saying them. There was twisted pleasure that he absorbed as though he was a sponge when he twisted, bent, folded and squeezed the mangled fingers of the Elf-prince.

Finally he managed to drag the desired reaction from the weary and beaten captive though it came with its own prince: a wicked glare of hatred, pure and unaltered. "Please, stop…hurts…. Stop!" His last word was a half-scream that was quickly bitten off as he felt one of his fingers bend in a way he felt sure it was never meant to bend.

"Of course it hurts, stupid Elf, it was supposed to," Cortanyar grinned, in his cruelty taking immense enjoyment as he felt himself thrive off the pain, fear and humiliation radiating from his prisoner. He stopped manipulating and abusing the poor Elf's fingers long enough to help himself to a fist full of golden-hair and pull Legolas' head back so the prince was forced to meet his merciless gaze. "And to think this was all over you," he purred, smiling as the defiant look crept back to fill Legolas' eyes with a cold and indifferent stare that still glowed with anger and an icy pity.

"You and I both know that there is more to it than that. I know your game and everyone else's'. I know what you have to gain by my death and my pain, believe me," the Elf spat bitterly, recoiling when Cortanyar placed his hand on his shoulder and gave it a stern squeeze. Legolas' strongly resented the fact that he tensed up beneath the man's touch, ungentle as it was.

"Do you, now, Elfy?" the man asked quietly, all too quietly and in a way that disturbed the prince more than he would like to admit to anyone. He watched with a well-masked face while Cortanyar chuckled deeply, a guttural sound from somewhere deep within. Legolas' impassive look quickly turned into a aggravated and angered expression. "Elf," the ex-healer caught his breath as he spoke. "You have no idea."

"Let go of me," the fair-haired Elf demanded flatly, not willing to find a middle ground with this man in the least. He had no business touching him, at least, not from Legolas' perspective. Suddenly becoming conscious of the fact he was grinding his teeth, the blonde Elf chastised himself quickly and silently before he put an abrupt stop to the unhealthy habit. However, this lasted only a few seconds before he began to grind his back molars once more and quickly dismissed the rather admirable idea of putting an end to the grating. He didn't have the strength and it _did_ help him to find an escape for his pain.

Too caught up in his inner battles that were trivial and in vain, the prince finally realized that Cortanyar had complied and removed himself from the Elf without even a minute protest. Fully confused now, Legolas cast the man a quizzical look that involved a single brow that formed a perfect blonde arch and his lips turned downward in a disconcerting frown while chewing slightly on the bottom lip. Obviously, he had said something right, but he couldn't quite figure out what.

Cortanyar wasn't even acknowledging him now, but was talking with some men and from the gesticulations the fair-haired Elf saw it looked as though they were making plans for _something_. Wrinkling his nose slightly as he tried to iron these things out in his mind, Legolas gave up quickly, coming to the conclusion that it wasn't worth his time. He had given up figuring what these men were thinking a long time ago so why try to start up the frustrating challenge again? He shook his head inwardly before he focused his gaze on the ceiling, which suddenly became exceedingly interesting.

These beams were placed very well and had the most interesting cobwebs…. Oh, and look, that wee thing creeping across the building in a nearly inconspicuous way must be a spider. And there was another…. Incredible….

His mental ramblings were interrupted rudely as Cortanyar spoke crossly to him over his shoulder. "Elf, we are leaving this village within the hour. You will be transported to Sygul, or at least the outskirts of it where you will be promptly executed."

If he had been hoping to see the Elf tremble in fear he was sorely disappointed and in fact, he was a bit agitated to see the prince looking rather _relieved_. The expressive blue eyes were clouded over but not fearful or even in pain but had an annoying look of relaxation and inner peace. The Haradrim ex-healer scowled darkly as he felt anger wrap itself around his heart like a drab cloak.

Stalking over slowly to where Legolas was chained to the wall, it took him a few seconds to close the space between them but once he had he wasted no time. Legolas remained surprisingly calm though everything inside was screaming at him to cower or try to find a means of escape. But he was just so tired and he was comforted by the grim fact that all of this was going to be over soon. It wasn't the ending that had him frightened though, it was the time between now and the ending that had him afraid.

He became detachedly aware that Cortanyar had taken him by the throat and was slowly cutting off his air, leaving him with a full but unsatisfied feeling as black spots found their way into his dimming line of vision. Gapping for air, Legolas looked with wide but still peaceful eyes into Cortanyar's hardened ones. "Are you not scared of death, Elf? Or do you not know it when you see it?"

"Oh, I know it well," Legolas managed out calmly but seriously. "And death is better than whatever might be in store for me in your prince's dungeons or where ever else he might find use for me." Yellow dots began to merge with the black patches and random blotches that seemed both bound and determined to steal away his vision. Unfortunately he knew he was not going to die, not this soon, he still had at least one day ahead or more.

"You are either a liar or an idiot," growled Cortanyar before he let his grip slacken and watched for any unspoken thoughts in the Elf's blue orbs. Much to his frustration they were masked very well, a technique he guessed was hard learned from too much personal experience.

"Think what you will," the blonde Elf dismissed Cortanyar, purposefully trying to provoke the human into a rage. But also trying to ignore everything and concentrate on his composure that was constantly attempting to slip away.

There was an abrupt movement to Legolas' right, close to where the door was. Actually, he stood corrected; the sudden motion came from the door. Men were entering, the fair-haired immortal noted as the spots began to recede quickly, leaving his sharp Elven eyes back to their incomparable skills. Sighing as Cortanyar's grip slid from his neck and the captain spun around to face the approaching men, Legolas observed dismally that they carried heavy manacles. He doubted they were a part of Cortanyar's new wardrobe, though he felt it would be an improvement to the tattooed man's appearance if nothing else would with the possible exception of an arrow between his eyes.

Unable to stop a smile from curling his lips, the prince watched as the men came, clinking the chains ominously as they prepared weigh him down with the links of icy metal. Old memories resurfaced and Legolas felt his heart constrict in fear and his muscles went taut. Out of the corner of his eye, Legolas watched some more warriors coming in, bearing a cage they had fastened recently from iron rods with heavy vines threaded between the bars. It was tall enough for Legolas to stand in it. Wincing as rough and cruel hands began to unlock his wrists from the loops on the walls; Legolas caught sight that the vines threaded through the bars had tiny spines or thorns on them. They obviously weren't going to allow him to escape easily or even in one piece.

The icy metal snaked around his wrists and the weight of the iron links and clasp made his arm drop instantly and he didn't try to lift it. Sighing, he transfixed his eyes on the floor and refused to meet any of the men's eyes, not because he was afraid of them but because he was afraid of them seeing he was afraid of what they would do to him. He felt the cumbrous and burdensome shackles wrap around his ankles as well and camp around his other wrist. Detachedly he realized that these were nothing compared to the burdens and bonds he felt weighing his heart down, forcing him to swallow uneasily.

With his hands fettered behind his back, the fair-haired prisoner could not defend or balance himself as he was yanked to his feet and shoved towards the cage, stumbling the entire way. These clumsy chains were making a fool of his Elven agility and it burned his heart that was already stinging with anger and hurt. Color flushed his cheeks in a wave of intense heat that was unstoppable.

But the constant comfort of upcoming death remained and he knew once he got in that cage contraption that it wouldn't be too far off. Strangely, he breathed a deep sigh of relief.

O0O

Dawn had come, Elrohir noticed dimly as he gazed at the red sky above the treetops of Mirkwood through a set of bleary steel-grey eyes. Wrinkling his nose in slight alarm, the son of Elrond gave his brother a slight nod as he cast a quick and curious glance over to see if he could read Elladan's mood from his facial expression. Fortunately, he was not hard put to see the forecast of emotions his brother possessed and the younger twin shivered. Unfortunately, he had the same emotions and knew all too well what they felt like.

A red sun had risen. Not that he was superstitious, but red suns usually meant death and everyone, literally everyone, knew it. But just because it meant death had come didn't mean it was one of your own that had died, at least, Elrohir hoped not. No, it couldn't be, because it was not logically possible. But he couldn't help but wonder if there were anyone else standing out, watching the sunrise and wondering if someone they knew, who was far away had died, but at the same time thinking, no, it was someone else, just the same as he was thinking.

Elladan caught his brother watching him and he smiled briefly before he said quietly, "a red sun, brother. Do you think it has a meaning?" His eyes looked back to Mirkwood solemnly and he followed the trees up to their tops and then the scarlet sky. He could feel Elrohir's eyes shift to look at their father, who was standing at the ford's edge, quietly observing the situation and assessing it in his mind.

"Do you?" he asked in a whisper as he stepped forward to stand beside Elrond, who looked over to him and frowned.

"The orcs still occupy the other side, but there are not so many. I think a battle took place further in the woods last night. Mirkwood's warriors caused them to suffer great loss," Elrond concluded insightfully as he put his focus back across the churning waters that looked anything but welcoming. As a matter of fact, he felt they looked cold, choppy, deep, threatening and all together devious. Valar help them, he was beginning to think like Glorfindel!

"Then we can cross and fight our way through them, could we not father?" asked the younger twin assuredly and with a bit more determination than he actually meant to present. Elladan took his place calmly and nearly inconspicuously by his identical brother's side. His low profile made Elrohir glance over long enough to confirm he was actually there before his attention was diverted back to his father.

"We might but that would be risking a lot, Elrohir. You know this. There is too much of a chance that one of you could be wounded, gravely wounded." Elrond shook his head and beneath the hood of his dark purple, velvet-like cloak they saw his eyes watching the opposite shore calculatingly.

"But if Rothinzil, or Celebalda's contingent is on the other side and they didn't destroy the entire troupe they may need aid. Not to say anything about the fact that the more time we waste, the worse things become. Father, we must do _something_ soon." Elrohir knew he was border lining on being disrespectful but he felt that his younger brother needed him right now, urgently, and his heart was stinging with the pain that he wasn't there.

Elladan voiced his agreement with his brother. "Elrohir is right, Ada, delay only helps our adversaries. The orcs appear to be preoccupied, and I think it is possible we can slip by them without too much trouble."

Elrond was about to say something contradictory and probably wise when their was a familiar hiss, sort of whistle that caused all three Peredhils to look up at the trees just in time to see a host, quite a small host, unfortunately, of green and yellow feathered shafts descending from the trees tops and slamming into surprised brood of orcs below. A few shrill and piercing cries of death and terror went up before they were replaced by ones of anger and frustration. All three of the Rivendell Elves exchanged glances before they decided to watch and deal with any orcs that came to their side of the ford.

A bough on a tree shook, its leaves glittering as the sun reflected off the dew droplets that fell. Smiling, Elrohir immediately recognized the position of Rothinzil, the only Elf clumsy enough to be at home in the trees and still not be able to go unnoticed in their branches and foliage. It was nearly pathetic, except for the fact that somehow it actually was beneficial to Roth because his attackers often underestimated his capabilities with a sword and accuracy with a bow. Like all Elves, good-natured Rothinzil was lethal with both and could deal out death in one swift stroke or shot if he was threatened. All adversaries of the dark-haired Mirkwood warrior would be better off not to miscalculate and belittle him. Elrohir had learned that the hard way when he had spared with the mortal Elf back when Roth had still been immortal and they had only just been introduced thanks to Prince Legolas.

Elladan chuckled and muttered in a humorous and friendly tone, "well I think I know where Rothinzil is." But Elrohir noticed with a bit of alarm and perhaps a hint of distress that Elladan's smile was not filling his eyes and appeared to be completely hollow.

"And Caranfëa," Elrohir added gloomily and pointedly as he gestured briefly towards the woods where arrows, with a lethal accuracy, were coming from the tops of the trees. He smiled inwardly while his face possessed a furrowed brow and a crinkled nose as he mulled over everything in his mind.

Elladan nodded to let Elrohir know he had heard him, however he remained mute, turning things over and examining the situation inwardly.

Suddenly Elrohir commanded firmly, tugging at his elder twin's sleeve tenaciously, "come on. They will need help."

Elladan glared at Elrohir dubiously and his grey eyes effectively took on the dark and ominous look of seething storm clouds, "what about our father, Elrohir? Think sense, for Elbereth's sake!" He passed a hand over his brow and shook his head. It wasn't his fault that his twin was ceaselessly contriving schemes of lunacy, he decided consolingly. Sometimes he thought that Elrohir, Legolas, Aragorn -and the entire lot as a matter of fact, all shared the same amount of sense as a soggy piece of Lembas bread. And as a matter of fact that was between all of them combined and even then the soggy piece of Lembas bread held an advantage. It was a sad thing, really.

Elladan was pulled slowly from his inward ramblings and rather grim conclusions by Elrohir's voice and a hand shaking his shoulder. "I do think sense, Elladan! But father is…he _isn't_ the same! We are how old, _gwador-nin_? I mean no disrespect to our father but really, I think the fact that he is losing his mind at the moment gives us reason to act as we see best."

Elladan nodded and said, "but I _will_ consult Ada, and don't even try to stop me."

"I wouldn't dream of it."

"After having you laugh at me when I fell out of the window and could have broke my neck before you went and promptly told Erestor and everyone else, I don't think I can put anything past you…ever." Elladan's eyes still had the stormy effect but there was a bit of sunshine peeking through.

"Brother," Elrohir chided in a friendly voice. "You are rather cynical, do you know that?" He glared across the river and then at the devious, bleak, threatening water. 'This is a lovely situation, just lovely,' he grumbled mentally. He had a brother who was about as cheerful as a graveyard and Rothinzil along with Celebalda and Caranfëa needed aid. The squeals of the orcs were still too many and there were not enough cries of death coming form them.

A shove from behind alerted him that Elladan was finished consulting their father. Spinning around, ready to shove Elladan back, he came face to face with his horse, which was nuzzling him affectionately but with a wild look in his eyes as he anticipated the battle. Elrond was already mounted and so was Elladan, who snorted softly and teased Elrohir softly. "Come, hurry up. You are about as fast a cave-troll trying to walk in the sun shine."

"It's better than being about as comely as one," Elrohir retorted darkly while he stepped lightly up onto his horse and prepared to draw his sword.

"Considering I am your twin, Elrohir, I am hoping that you were simply not thinking when you said that," Elladan retorted with a tense smile that reminded Elrohir sharply of a rabbit knowing it was about to enter into a chase with a daring fox that was going to be allowed the advantage for a few moments. Spurring his horse towards the water that suddenly didn't appear as dangerous but more sly, the younger of the twin brothers was the first to enter the ford followed up by Elladan and then by Elrond.

All three had their swords drawn.

There was a shrill hissing sound that sounded like a good deal of arrows all flying and cutting through the air at once. Elrond threw back his hood decisively and looked around as he realized that was because there _were_ a host of projectiles descending about them, smacking the water with hisses and minute splashes. His horse backed up a single and snorted, clearly stating its disagreement with the decision and his uneasiness with the chancy predicament.

In the past Elrond had always made a point to listen to his horse but right now, he knew that retreating and going back was not an option. His sons were already surging their horses up the opposite bank, leaving a dingy froth and small waves in their wake. Glorfindel was completely right, Elrond agreed silently. Elladan and Elrohir were both very reckless and that probably did account for all the wounds they had received and all the trouble they got into. However, Legolas and Aragorn, they were an entirely different story. They were reckless to a fault and it was disturbing (to say the least) how easily they seemed to find themselves enmeshed in a life or death situation.

O0O

Glorfindel couldn't remember feeling this frustrated in a long time and that included sitting through some of the longest, boring and most unnecessary lectures hosted by Lord Erestor during an already tedious council meeting in living memory. His hands clenched and unclenched methodically as he resisted the urge to grab Haldir by his neck and simply squeeze and twist until he couldn't squeeze and twist anymore. Wouldn't that be entertaining, he mused all too calmly as he reluctantly and rather grumpily allowed his horse to be lead by the March Warden of the Galadrim.

"Why do you insist on leading me like I am some sort of criminal when in fact, I am an Elf-lord of the West?" Glorfindel complained and half-growled at the silver-blonde haired Elf in a way that made Haldir frown even more. He cast a scathing glare in the direction of his 'charge' before answering.

"Glorfindel, it is my duty to keep the Lady Galadriel and the Lord Celeborn's realm safe. You make excellent practice," he finished with what Glorfindel considered to be an uncalled for smirk.

"Oh, really? Well I am sure they are going to love to hear how their guest, whom they summoned, was harassed needlessly. You know, this is worth it just to _that_. I mean, if I am lucky you will be placed under house arrest for this," the Gondolin Elf finished crossly.

Haldir smirked. "I am so concerned," he retorted snidely, steering Glorfindel's horse around a tree. A branch snapped back, and would have slapped Glorfindel full in the face if his reflexes hadn't proved to be quicker. A withering glare was shot at the silver-haired Lorien Elf as Glorfindel righted himself on the horse quicker than Haldir was able to realize he had nearly been knocked off.

"Oh, indeed, I can tell," remarked Glorfindel in a morbid mutter under his breath. Rolling his eyes, he finally clenched his jaw, deciding that Haldir was not wroth his time. If this overly confident March Warden wanted to drag him through Lorien he supposed that he should feel grateful he wasn't blindfolded. Snickering inwardly, he remembered when Erestor had come back to Rivendell in a rather…displeased mood after such an incident. The dark-haired counselor had sworn up and down he would _never_ even vaguely consider getting with yelling distance of the Golden Wood. But, Glorfindel's long memory continued to his amusement, Erestor went back the following fall.

Haldir was completely ignoring him now, something he was grateful for as well. He didn't think he could take much more of that overly calm voice commanding him to do anything anymore. Once more the urge to grab Haldir's neck and choke the life out of him while watching his eyes bulge out of his head became an appealing idea and a calculating smile spread across Glorfindel's face. It wouldn't be the dignified thing to do, of course, and Erestor would lecture him for being entirely undiplomatic, but it was well worth it.

**TBC…….**

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	24. This World Makes Me Weary

_**CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR**_

This World Makes Me Weary

Legolas was surprised, not pleasantly, but just simply shocked. He winced as he nearly leaned back against the bars of the cage the poor excuses for men had managed to force him into so they could parade him around like he was some sort of animal. So far he had not leaned against it once, and he meant to keep it that way if he had nay say in the matter. Still surprised, the Elf shook his head with the understanding that the soldiers had kept their word and it _was_ with in the hour and they _had_ left. It wasn't often one encountered this moment and so he felt a slightly greater sense of importance.

But, looking at the not too wonderful aspects of his captivity. He was famished and in his opinion, was a shadow of what he had been. Not only that, some of his more nasty lacerations were refusing to heal, something that had him concerned and displeased all at once. There was nothing about this cage that made the weather any more pleasurable for him than it did for the soldiers who were marching. And the middle of the desert, he had decided some time ago, had a very harsh climate. It was too hot or too cold and sometimes far too wet. And at the point in the seasons everything was drenched and the earth was nothing but one big mud sink. They had already lost a cart that had actually delved beneath the surface of the muck to the point where it was beyond salvation and all the men on it.

Legolas didn't know if the fact that his had not sunk in and he hadn't been killed was a good thing or a bad thing. Time would tell, he supposed, yawning as his eyes began to drift shut. It had been cold, very cold, but now he didn't feel so cold anymore and actually felt strangely warm and just…numb. He had to admit, he didn't think it was a healthy symptom but it was comfortable and considering how long he had left to live anyway he really didn't care as long as he wasn't in pain.

To busy himself he turned his attention to how many men were escorting him. Well, a good percentage had been left at the town of Astroggen to look after things. The prince nearly burst into insulting laughter at that idea, but then continued with his assessing of the amount of men. All and all it looked like there was a grand total of about fifty and that was not counting the twelve lost with the wagon so it was a decently sized convoy, all things taken into consideration.

Legolas set his chin upon his knees, lowering his head lowly so he wouldn't find himself plagued by another throbbing headache as a result of his low blood sugar due to starvation and blood loss, the prince wondered if those twelve men being lost could actually be classified as a tragedy. Yes, they were men, but they were cruel men and would have loved to see him disemboweled or worse so to have them missing didn't appear to be any great loss to him. Though, his conscience told him that it still wasn't a nice way to die, drowning mud and he should pity them there. Which he did, but he also scorned them.

Looking to his right, he saw a large bit of lightning flash. 'Wonderful' his instincts complained. 'You shall be struck by lightning and fried like a rabbit on a spit!' Needless to say that the thought didn't strike Legolas as appealing or even distantly pleasant. Deciding he was thinking too much, the Elf wondered if there was anyway possible he could render himself unconscious. Not likely though, his hands were still chained behind his back and smashing his head against the bars was risking a lot more damage than he wanted.

Dreamily, he wondered where Aragorn was and if he was all right. Surely that stubborn human had managed to find a way to safety. But even if he had, Legolas had the sinking suspicion spreading in his stomach Aragorn was going to try and pull off some daring rescue that would only succeed in getting them _both_ killed. And when that happened. Valar help the man when they got to the other side, because Legolas was going to choke him for his efforts.

Cortanyar glanced up at the Elf drearily, sitting calmly in the cage, seeming to have accepted his fate and not caring about much of anything. All fear had seemed to flee the fair-being and when the Elf, sensing eyes on him, turned and shot a scathing glare at the captain, the man knew that all respect was lost. Well that was fine, the Elf would die at noon the next day and there was absolutely no way that ranger or anyone could interfere. That ranger had no army and that ranger was going to be dead. The thought made Cortanyar smile and he chucked inwardly so that his men wouldn't think he was insane. Not that it matter in the end what they thought, but public image was important.

"So are we feeling a bit frightened yet, Elf?" he jeered snidely, poking his spear through the bars just enough for it to jab the captive in one of his cracked ribs.

Legolas glared down at him and answered calmly, "no. Are you?" he returned, a question for a question, wishing he could return an eye for an eye.

"Not at all, as a matter of fact, I am feeling a bit …excited about tomorrow," he smiled evilly. "And you?"

"I could care less," Legolas answered simply, closing his eyes.

"Oh! Forgive me! It must have been the closed eyes and depressed look that had me fooled," Cortanyar taunted relentlessly.

"Actually, if you must know, a week or more of intense torture, escape, and hiding makes one very tired, as I am feeling now, Master Human," he spat back evenly, opening one eye to add emphases to his words. Apparently they had no effect on his captor in the least because the man was already ignoring him again and shouting orders to his men. 'I don't fear dogs, thank you very much,' Legolas thought as he dropped his head to rest on his knees again, and closed his eyes. He was so weary just about any position was comfortable.

A few hours later he had come to agree for the fourth time on the same conclusion he had thought up as he had sat in the cage, unable to sleep.

Cortanyar loved to hear himself speak. He could shout orders all day, which no one would dare to cough in protest about and never tire of his job. Legolas knew it was pointless to try and tell the man to shut his trap and allow him a few moments of peace so he could try and re-gather his sanity. He also supposed it would be just as pointless to attempt to convict any of these people to see reason and common logic. He was glad he didn't care enough to try because he might become more frustrated than he had in a long time he didn't want to add to injury.

To his surprise and nearly his enjoyment, Legolas saw the vastness of Sygul looming ominously on the horizon. Soon he would be at eternal peace, but he wondered what would come first. Shuddering to think, the prince decided that thinking _that_ far into his near future was a definite mistake that he must not make again if he wished to keep a grip on _some_ of the sanity he still had.

An insulting and rancorous amount of laughter broke out in his mind and asked bluntly, 'what sanity?'

O0O0O0O0O

Aragorn stumbled as he caught up with Darcíl, coming to kneel beside the other man in the muddy sand of the drenched desert. His breathing had accelerated to a potentially dangerous celerity and he had a thin sheen of cold sweat pooling on his brow and beading on his face in small droplets. Pain was shooting through his system and he was having an extremely hard time blinking back the black spots that persistently floated into his field of vision. With his injuries he knew that sooner or later he was probably going to go unconscious but he didn't have time for it now, so it would have to wait. Going unconscious always came at the most inconvenient times, he complained inwardly as Darcíl pointed tiredly towards the confines of a small set of huts with thick, long and spiny vines lacing about them.

Anyway attempt to try and get through those vines to escape would have been an extremely painful idea.

"That is where your soldiers are being kept. I doubt over half of them are alive, though," Darcíl added as an after thought, glancing sidelong at the ranger.

Aragorn said nothing, and his face went sorrowful, as he was lost in memory. Yes, these men had never truly liked his best friend and had often treated Legolas badly, shunning him and wishing he would get killed in a battle, but there had been good men too. Sirith had always made a point of being extremely kind to the Elf and tried to learn what he could from the prince, who he held in honor and awe. And in turn Legolas had always tried to look after the boy in battles and had always allowed the young soldier to accompany him (with Aragorn's permission) when he went star gazing. For all these men, good and bad alike, Aragorn felt responsible and it was then he made up his mind that he was not leaving this country without all of them that he could take and that could follow.

Noticing Darcíl watching him, the ranger asked softly, "where are the guards of this place?" He squinted his eyes but he wasn't able to see any of them.

Darcíl frowned and then his expression darkened as he scrutinized the ground surrounding the Prisoners of War Camp with a critical eye. He felt a feeling of dread slowly spreading in his stomach and causing bile to rise in his throat, which his quickly shoved back down. "There should be two on every side, with the exception of three in the front adding up to a grand total of nine. However, I don't see any of them."

Throat constricting and muscles tensing, Aragorn wondered if that was simply because there was no reason to guard the camp anymore. What if all of his soldiers were…dead? How could he go back and tell their families? How could he possibly save Legolas now? But as always, he couldn't simply accept letting his friend die here and he couldn't believe all his men were dead. Going into a complete state of denial wasn't always a good thing, but right now it was all that kept him going on. Aragorn asked, "are you sure?"

"Absolutely. But if that is the case, it could be a good sign. It could mean that Dorrag is so desperate for soldiers he is willing to leave the prisoners -your men, unguarded." However, though he said these things out loud, Darcíl was really rather disbelieving about the entire thing. The prisoners had to be guarded, Dorrag would expect something like this unless he had become more arrogant than usual, or his thoughts were concentrating completely on capturing and putting the death, that dratted Elf. He should have killed the cursed being when he had the chance, the Haradrim man decided negatively. But a lot of good wistful thinking was doing him now.

Aragorn continued to stare hard at the Prison Camp, as though by staring alone he could unlock all the answers they needed. However, all his staring actually managed to pay off when he noticed movement out of the corner of his eye. Putting all his attention on the said movement, he realized it had been a warrior or guard near the entrance to the barracks of his men, the prisoners. Narrowing his eyes, squinting to make sure he wasn't seeing things, Aragorn came to the conclusion that there were most definitely at least two guards there.

Looking over to where Darcíl was, he noticed that the Haradrim man had seen them too. "Two guards," he commented dryly. "Nothing we can't take of." Aragorn nodded slowly, his thoughts drifting back to when Legolas had gotten captured to try and save him. If Legolas hadn't tried to save him the Elf would be free, still be unhurt and unscarred. But, Legolas had put everything on the line to save him and had lost. Well, Aragorn decided for what had to be near the billionth time, I owe him that same devotion.

"I have no weapon," Aragorn suddenly realized. He had been so used to having one that he hadn't thought to look to see if he still had his sword. Now that it was gone he felt naked and exposed. His hand went to his left side and clutched thin air where the hilt would have been, causing his stomach to momentarily clench in sudden anxiety.

Darcíl looked at him without blinking. "That's what dead men are for. I will kill the first one and you can have his weapon."

Aragorn knew by the time he got the first guard's weapon both of the Haradrim warriors would be dead at Darcíl's hand. But the weapon would come in handy later, he decided resourcefully. Aragorn knew that Darcíl's logic was legitimate and was also aware of the fact that he had done it before, but it pained him to take a weapon of a fallen warrior, enemy or foe. It made him have a feeling he felt would be akin to one a thief would have. But there was nothing for it. He must take the weapon or die.

Looking over his shoulder, Aragorn scanned the horizon for signs of the convoy that was escorting Legolas into Sygul and to the scaffolding. Fortunately he didn't see them yet, which meant he still had time. But he knew it was quickly going by and soon everything he had would be tested at mostly his friend's expense. If he failed, Legolas died, if he succeeded, then he could free Legolas. Feeling a strong sense of responsibility, Aragorn suddenly felt even more uncomfortable about the situation.

Suddenly Darcíl rushed forward, drawing out his sword and vaulting over the small knoll to rush straight at the two astounded guards who had virtually no time to react in the least. Their mouths formed two near perfect 'O's before the ex-Haradrim Captain was upon them with a speed and accuracy they had never been up against. Aragorn watched with pleased astonishment as Darcíl felled them both with two broad and strong swipes of his sword.

Rushing forward to do his part, Aragorn unceremoniously seized one of the scimitars and then slowed abruptly, admittedly afraid of what he might find left his men. He didn't want to see all that they had suffered, knowing half of it already thanks to Dorrag and his goons. Darcíl stopped altogether and let Aragorn go first, having the good sense to know that it might be better to let the ranger come to terms with everything first. But he had better come to terms quickly because they certainly didn't have the time to grieve or have a nervous break down.

Aragorn strode decidedly towards one of the huts and taking a deep breath, slammed the door open with a powerful kick to its center. It gave immediately and what he saw on the inside appalled him. There were ten of his men, not looking as horrible as they could have been. They weren't skin and bones yet, but they were a sickly pale color that made his stomach turn. In all truth some of their faces had a green tinge. He would never forget their eyes, still afire with defiance but set further back in their lean faces surrounded by dark circles of weariness and sorrow. "Captain Thorongil!" Their response to the presence of their leader was simultaneous.

"Help me free the others! Quickly!" Aragorn commanded, looking over his shoulder to see Darcíl, whom the men were shooting completely wicked glares at. To them and to Aragorn he was a tormenter. But the difference was, to Aragorn he was so much more because without his help, Legolas was going to die. "Its alright, he's an ally," assured the ranger quickly. "He's here to help."

The freed men lead by Aragorn and Darcíl began towards one of the other huts as quickly as they were able. "Where's that Elf?" asked one of the men almost in a sneer, speaking the word 'Elf' as though it were a curse and tasted bitter in his mouth.

Aragorn glared at the man and snapped angrily, "that Elf just saved your lives! Now it is our turn to save his! You will cooperate or I swear by the Stars I will have you court marshaled!" Everyone present knew beyond the shadow of a doubt that Aragorn was not making idle threats, they had known him long enough to know they could trust him on everything. All the same, they glared in quiet protest before hurrying with Aragorn and Darcíl to break into the other huts and prisoner barracks.

When all was done, there were only about thirty of the fifty men there. Sirith, to Aragorn's relief, had been found though he was much weaker than he had been and was terribly thin, even for a teenage boy. A flare of anger flashed through the ranger as he looked over the treatment of his men, his brothers. It was obvious some had been tortured and beaten for what reasons Aragorn could not fully understand. Sirith had a black eye and there was dried blood from a broken lip caked in the right corner of his mouth.

Knowing he could waste no time with formalities and greetings, Aragorn decided to keep things simple. Telling his men to form ranks, Aragorn stood before them, Darcíl standing stiffly at his side, looking at the men as though he expected them to lynch him. Which, in fact he halfway did, and he couldn't really blame them. As Aragorn watched the ranks being 'filled' it came to his mind how truly empty they were and his heart was stabbed with grief. There were twenty men dead, twenty empty spaces, and twenty places to fill again.

"The Elf that came with me is in dire danger," Aragorn explained in a stiff voice. "He is going to be publicly executed at noon. He is one of our brothers and he has shed his blood for you as much as for me. The simple fact is that I am not going home without him and therefore, neither are you. We aren't leaving a living man _or Elf_ behind." He gave his men a calculating stare and Darcíl looked at the dirt and his boots as though they were suddenly the most interesting things he had seen in a long while.

"How can we save him? We will be killed and then no one will be able to return home," one of the men voiced.

Sirith glared at his comrade and said angrily, "he needs our help! He has fought by us and watched our backs as we forded streams, shooting men down who would have shot us! How can you abandon him so easily? Is that the sort of men you are?" His seething surprised a good deal of the men, who stared at their feet uncomfortably, feeling the barb painfully well.

Aragorn darkened his glare considerably for emphases and then he spoke. "There is only one way to get him back. And here is what we have to do." Lowering his voice to hushed tones, the ranger, quietly imparted to his men his entire plan, to the minutest details. It was amazing that all of this took less than five minutes and even more amazing that the reaction to follow was not outright negative.

"But can we not simply intercept the convoy taking him to that…town you named, Captain Thorongil?" Sirith asked respectively, not remembering the name of Sygul at all not really caring either. He only wanted to save Legolas, his friend.

Darcíl shook his head. "It is far too well armed. I would expect that the execution, however, will only be armed about half as much. Dorrag has other places he needs soldiers after all, we are in a war."

Aragorn nodded in agreement. He then went on to suggest, "and perhaps we can eliminate Dorrag while we are there?" He looked too Darcíl for a Response, but Darcíl looked more than a bit dubious. Indeed, he looked completely incredulous.

"We can dream. And you must leave quickly. Leave Dorrag to me, we have a…score to settle. Believe me, it would be my pleasure to go ahead and 'eliminate' him," finished the Harad warrior bluntly.

Aragorn frowned, obviously not liking the idea. He didn't think Darcíl would inform Dorrag of their plans, but he couldn't be too sure, after all. And he was entirely certain that Darcíl had no compassion for them what so ever and if he could kill them without destroying his country he would do it, with a smile on his face. But he couldn't very easily stop Darcíl and killing him simply didn't seem a just return for all the aid he had given them. So, unfortunately, that left trust as the only option. Feeling uncomfortable with the situation already and this only adding to his anxiety, Aragorn reluctantly agreed.

Frowning, the ranger wished he could find the heart not to agree or to kill Darcíl because he certainly didn't want his mission –and his friend's life –compromised because Darcíl went and spilled out their plans. But what other choice did he have but to trust him? Regrettably, none, he told himself sharply in his mind.

O0O0O0O0O

'Well,' Elladan thought as he spurred his horse out of the water and onto the bank of the Old Ford, 'at least it isn't as bad as it could be. Rothinzil could have fallen out of the tree by now and been killed on impact or skewered by one of those brutes called 'orcs'.'

Sword drawn he readily stabbed it through the thick mail of an orc that came straight at him, obviously intending to drag him from his mount and disembowel him. That was something he imagined he couldn't like too much. Another orc sneaking up behind him caught his immediate attention and he jerked around to stab over his horse's haunches, nearly causing the animal to throw him. It was then he decided that being on a horse in a battle had its advantages and its definite disadvantages. However, he quickly ruled that the advantages out weighed the disadvantages by far and so he should stay up on the horse if he wished to survive.

Looking over at his brother, he realized that Elrohir must have had the same idea and watched as Elrohir's blade disappeared into an orc's face to come out stained black as the creature stood their for a moment and then collapsed to the ground, convulsing. Deciding he didn't want to see anymore of that sort, the Noldo Elf turned his attention solely to his adversaries, where gathering around his horse, probably in an attempt to get a captive out of the ordeal. This was something, Elladan decided instantly, that was not going to happen and would interfere most badly with his schedule.

Riding so that he was now on the edge of the woods, the eldest of the Sons of Elrond, spun his horse around to look back for his brother and father. Ah, there they were, fighting orcs and making their way towards him. Looking up, he saw the familiar figure of a dark-haired Elf shoot arrows in rapid succession and trying to remain balanced at the same time. Smiling, Elladan called up, "Rothinzil! Are you having any fun?"

Rothinzil looked down with a dreary expression and answered crossly and rather sarcastically. "Yes, indeed, Lord Elladan loads of it. As a matter of fact, this is one of the more amusing experiences of my life!" He rolled his eyes as he ducked an arrow and glared, just to make his point.

"I can see your point," Elladan answered quickly. He smiled slightly as Elrohir rode up beside him followed by their father. Elrohir had a smug expression on his face and he chuckled quietly and nearly sinisterly.

"They are retreating. If we had more time, I would say we should finish them off," he suggested, looking at their father with a half-grin.

"_If_ we had more time, Ion-nin," Elrond said, retreating back into the forest on his horse so that the bushes hid him. Elladan cast a longing look at the fleeing orcs and then decidedly followed his father and Elrohir.

Rothinzil began to fall back, having must have gotten the signal from Celebalda to fall back.

Once all of the Elves from the battle had fallen back and they were safely hid in the woods, Celebalda stepped forward, nodding in respect when he saw Lord Elrond. "Lord Elrond, what brings you and your sons to Mirkwood?"

"Captain, we seek Prince Legolas and his father, desiring to find information about Estel, who has disappeared for two years," Elrond informed politely and rather diplomatically, even though he really was on a first name basis with all these Elves. A cold feeling spread through his stomach as he realized that there was a sad feeling in the air. Feeling his insides freeze in anticipation of the coming bad news, the elder Elf frowned thoughtfully.

"Prince Legolas has been lost for nigh on two years as well and we have heard no news from him in just as long," answered Rothinzil for his distraught captain, who seemed speechless. "We have no idea where he went, or if or when he is coming home."

Elladan gave Elrohir a sorrowful glance and then crinkled his nose in thought before he suggested quietly, "maybe they are together then." The suggestion was taken in with a long and sad silence that made the stomachs of every Elf present twist in pain as they realized what his could mean. The death of their prince and the death of the human that had come to love as a brother.

"So they both could be dead?" Caranfea asked quietly, coming to stand by his father, Celebalda, who looked suddenly very pale and older. The short redheaded Elf shook his head sorrowfully and looked over next to Rothinzil, who looked actually frightened. Legolas was more than a prince, more than a friend, Legolas was like a brother. Maybe he wasn't his blood brother, but he was his sworn brother and to have him lost…forever….that hurt a lot.

Suddenly the short Elf felt a hit on the back of his head and gave Roth the hardest stare he had given anyone in a very long time. "Don't talk like that!" Rothinzil explained anxiously. "Because is isn't helping me any and I am sure that everyone here would agree." He gave Elrond a respectful and disbelieving look before sharing it with the twins and everyone else present. "You now Legolas, he always bounces back and so does Estel," he added, seeing Elladan and Elrohir's identical and anxious faces.

"But this could be one time too many! Two years!" Elladan exclaimed darkly, his face turning more distraught by the minute. "Estel would have found some way to write to us or give us news! This isn't like him!" He was having a _very_ difficult time believing that his younger brother could be dead, and who could blame him? "Plus," he supplied further. "Legolas wouldn't be away form home this long unless he couldn't get back, no Elf would."

He and Elrohir were never abroad this long, even with the rangers. It was just too difficult.

Elrond remained silent standing by the equally silent Celebalda, who was chewing his lower lip nervously. Caranfea leaned on Rothinzil, whom he had become close friends with over the past twenty years, feeling the pain of knowing his prince and friend was quite possibly lost forever. Roth put a comforting arm about the little redhead's shoulder and looked down at him somberly. Their lives, all of them, appeared to be desolated by the loss of the friends, brothers and sons.

O0O0O0O0O

Glorfindel walked silently through the thick trees that were laid in a fine mist that drifted about his ankles, dampening his boots ever so slightly. He was grateful Haldir had gone off to perform his other duties and leave him alone to be about his business after a strict word from the Lady. Now that he thought about it, the rapidly paling face of the March Warden, coupled with his stammering 'yes, My Lady' was something that was more than laughable. There was no real word, he reasoned, to describe how humorous he had truly found it. Pity.

Having already spoken with Galadriel some time ago about the increasing number of orcs and the decreasing number of Elves, Glorfindel had contented himself to walk around the forest part of her city in the Nath of Lorien. He remembered that he hadn't been too happy when she had suggested, seemingly knowing how he had Haldir got along too, that they spend more time on the borders together and keep better contact. What had been crossing her mind at the time she suggested this he couldn't rightly imagine.

Seeing the tall mirror she was renowned for possessing, the golden-haired Elf stepped slowly up to it, wondering if he should dare to look into it. He was truly beginning to worry for Erestor and for Rivendell, but, scary as it might sound, he was genuinely worried just for Erestor. They had been friends since he had first returned to Middle Earth though they did fight like goblins and Uruks, but he couldn't rest or thinking while he didn't know if Erestor was alive or injured or dead…. Sighing, he drew closer to the mirror that had a bit of steam curling from the top, dissipating quickly when it rose into the air.

Galadriel was rather…touchy about who messed with her mirror. Hesitating, Glorfindel finally dared to look into it. At first all he saw was his reflection, staring anxiously back up at him and he shook his head, blowing air upwards and was about to leave when the water began to steam and ripples started. It was working! Narrowing his eyes, Glorfindel watched with impatience as an image of Rivendell surfaced.

Broken rock was everywhere and Elves were helping each other through the rubble, calling out for loved and lost ones that might not have survived this….event. Glorfindel was numb struck. He couldn't believe this was happening! Well, it might not be since the mirror showed, 'many things' as Galadriel herself said often, not all of which had come to pass and some that never would unless people went out of their way to prevent them. But the anguish on the fair faces and the shock in their eyes was tearing away at Glorfindel's heart.

However, he couldn't see Erestor and that was the most alarming thing of all. Was Erestor….dead or lost? He saw to Elves suddenly appear, they seemed to be looking frantically for someone but Glorfindel couldn't hear who they were calling for! Lip reading was not one of his talents and so he prayed they were not looking for Erestor.

A sudden fit of rage swept over him, radiating into the air and making the temperature rise about him for a brief moment. Elrond was letting Vilya for this! She was destroying his home and his people! Suddenly a pale face swirled into view and as the blurred image became clearer, he saw to his horror that it was Erestor, lying in the tall grass by a dead tree. His lips moved as he said something and he seemed perfectly calm but he was so ghastly pale. His grey eyes were wide and filming over as he spoke and his lips were turning grey-ish blue as he slowed his talking.

Erestor had just died! Or at least, in the mirror. Glorfindel heard someone screaming and then realized it was himself. He was screaming because he had just seen his best friend die.

**TBC...MUAHAHAHAHAHA! Isn't that sad? (sniff)**

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	25. I Saw Your Sky Fall

_**If you know the song by Matthew West called "You know where to find me" think of it when you read this chapter. Better yet, even listen to it if you can! Fanficiton dot net has made lyrics illegal. And if you don't know the lyrics, look them up, because they are worth it. **_

_**CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX**_

I Saw Your Sky Fall

Legolas looked at the dull city rising up before him. Ah, he had seen this place before, when he was first brought here actually. Well, considering his last visit to this city went particularly horrible to say the very least, Legolas didn't suppose that this visit was going to be any better.

Taking in everything in a single and scrupulous glance, the prince felt his throat constrict when he saw the scaffold erected before the town's gates. It was a high platform with a lengthy set of narrow stairs and three chairs on it while before the chairs was a ramp that lead down into where he guessed the crowd would be gathered, or the soldiers. Legolas was unable to suppress hard swallow and the tendrils of fear began to surge through him when he saw the smaller platform that he guessed the victim would kneel on as he was _beheaded_. Even though he had known this was coming and had told himself it was merciful and a good thing he still was not able to prepare himself for it and his stomach began to feel sick as his insides froze and seemed to stop working.

He didn't want to die! He wanted to live! He wanted to see his father again! He wanted to see Rothinzil and Helluin with their children once more and he wanted to see his forest again! His life –his _immortal_ life –wasn't supposed to end here on a scaffolding like a common criminal! Then why was everything leading to this? He wanted so badly to tell his father he was sorry….or at least say good-bye…

Cortanyar wasn't paying the least bit of attention to his captive now and as a matter of fact, probably wouldn't have noticed if Legolas had been stolen out from under their very noses. Which, Legolas thought wistfully, he wouldn't mind right now. He watched as the captain of the Haradrim grabbed a younger soldier by his tunic and snapped, "Go and tell his majesty, prince Dorrag we have the Elf in custody and make sure he gives you directions as to what he wants done with him." The young warrior nodded fervently and his face was pale but he rushed off to do his captain's bidding, something which Legolas was a bit disgusted about, that people followed orders from men of Cortanyar's kind.

Cortanyar then spun around, fixing the men who bore Legolas' cage with a demanding glare. "Put the Elf down. We will rest here until we receive our orders." He knew the miserable blonde creature was supposed to die at noon but he also knew that Dorrag all too often changed his plans as well as would like to be there for the execution.

Legolas jolted abruptly as the cage was _dropped_ unceremoniously to the ground, jarring him painfully. His wounded and stiff body screamed and he glared. His look that he gave Cortanyar and the other men, giving especially, though, to the ones who had dropped him, was sharp enough that it was feasible for it to draw blood. "Thank you very much," he mumbled sarcastically, as he tried to ease his jerked body. Looking down at his abdomen, he realized how much weight he had lost and sighed desolately. If the wind blew him away off the scaffolding he wouldn't be overly surprised, and he certainly wouldn't be overly displeased either.

Frowning as he looked at his wounds, which were healing aggravatingly slow, he wondered idly where Aragorn was and if he was alive. Aragorn was better at getting into trouble than out of it, but then again, so was everyone that he was close with except for maybe his father. Maybe that was why he always found himself in these deplorable situations. Well, unfortunately this might be the last situation he ever found himself in ever. Though there were usual dramatic rescues for either he or Aragorn this place just didn't seem like it welcomed things of that nature and so Legolas was pretty sure it was check mate and he had lost. Now it was time to throw in the pieces.

Ah, well there were some things he would rather not think about right now. Brooding over anything never helped anyone and as a matter of fact, in his experience, only served to make things frustratingly worse. Feeling rather sleepy and feeling the effects of the sun now, since the rainy season was evidently coming to a close the Elf allowed the grogginess he felt from the heat and humidity to begin to lull him to sleep. He would have leaned back against the bars of his oh-so-accommodating prison but they had thorns and his hands were bound behind his back, making this unpleasant state of affairs even worse. So, he leaned forward, resting his head, which felt like it was created entirely of iron, on his knees and he began to close his eyes.

However, he should have known rest wasn't going to be permitted, at least, not as long as Cortanyar was awake and still just as maniacal, devious and sadistic as ever. Which, unfortunately, he was still all of these things plus more. Plus lots more, actually, now that Legolas was awakened enough to think about, thanks to the prod in the ribs he had received from a rather pointy spear belonging (unsurprisingly) to a rather grumpy Haradrim captain. "Just you stay awake, Elf!" he snapped. "You'll see a final rest soon enough and you'll get to see your precious Valar!" He sneered suddenly, spitting through the bars and thorns. "Where are they? Your gods? I supposed they would want to save such a loyal Elf as you. Guess they aren't real or maybe you aren't worth it!"

Legolas was not in the frame of mind to put up with this man's arrogant stupidity. Deciding since he was going to die anyway that he had nothing to lose he retorted back sharply. "They have a reason for everything that happens and if this is their will, so be it. I think I can deal with it as long as I am away from you and that slobbering maniacal bovine that is the poorest excuse for a prince I have seen in a long time!" He knew he had just said quite a mouthful of insults, but that was the whole idea, wasn't it? He glared relentlessly through the bars before Cortanyar's face turned an amusing shade of red akin to a tomato and caused the Elf to smile inwardly. "That color looks good on you," he commented to incise Cortanyar further and see if perhaps he could create a shade of royal purple.

The Haradrim captain, to Legolas' disappointment, suddenly went calm and his normal color returned. "I am going to enjoy hacking off your miserable head, Elf. Rest assured, I will be the one to do it!"

Legolas allowed his inner smile to seep through onto his face before he said with a shrug, "if you like. I care not. All the same I will die and go home and get to see my mother and other relatives. It is like a big family reunion if you want to know. Honestly, I think dying might not be so bad, a little annoying if I have to be around too many of my cousins all at once but other than that it should be quite nice and…peaceful I would think."

Cortanyar just pressed his lips into a tight line before giving the Elf one last jab with his spear and leaving to deal with a quarrel that had broken out among his men about Sauron knew what.

Smiling still in satisfaction, Legolas turned his attention to the horizon, where the sun was high in the sky beating down on them all and the rain clouds had been blown into the distance. Squinting, Legolas suddenly looked a little harder as he could have sworn he had seen several figures moving on the horizon, at least ten and probably more. His heart sped up but outwardly he remained calm and observant. Aragorn? Had that stupid human really lived and decided to come after him only to die? But if it was Aragorn Legolas was hard put to figure out who was with him.

Deciding almost instantly that since no one else seemed to see them that they didn't need to know, Legolas kept quiet and diverted his attention away so no one would get suspicious and do the intelligent thing. Look.

O0O0O0O

Aragorn looked about himself, obviously trying to get his bearings. He wasn't from here and so, naturally it took a little longer for him to figure everything out. But there was the trouble. He had told his men to assimilate and try to look like native Haradrim but keep their tell-tale faces hidden. Standing around staring at things like a love stuck frog wasn't going to help with their plan, not at all. This was just anther reason why Aragorn was clenching his hands trying to figure out a way to look inconspicuous.

He knew that most likely everyone would want to come and see Legolas get executed. Chances were all he would have to do was follow the crowd. Sirith was at his side but Darcíl had left, gone to do some part of the plan that was entirely his own and to which Aragorn had not the slightest notion of what it was. This did bother the ranger, but things were in motion now that couldn't very easily be stopped. He didn't have time to fret over Darcíl's doings.

Cloak drawn about his face, the man did look like one the Haradrim peasants who always seemed to try and hide their faces in shame, another of the many things that made Aragorn hate the Haradrim society. Another one of those many reasons could possibly be that they were at war with his people and were going to take pleasure in seeing his best friend put cruelly to death. Feeling his blood run hot with anger, the man willed himself to calm as Sirith stood uneasily by his side. He could feel the younger man's fear and anger surging through him, making the air about them both seem electrified.

Suddenly there were cries and people were running through the market placing seemingly in a huge hurry. There were cries of, "Down with the Elf!" and "Slay the Elf!"

Well, Aragorn reasoned as he pulled Sirith after him and they began to run towards the town gates, (which were still as poorly guarded as when they had sneaked in), this is it. I have to save him now or never.

The savagery of the crowd was…well, yes savage. Though the word 'vicious' described it about as well. But there were a few exceptions in the crowd; people that were too used to seeing an execution or two a week and thought this to be rather boring with the possible exclusion of the one to be executed. An Elf was something they didn't see everyday, especially being bound and decapitated. It sounded interesting in a monotonous way.

Continuing to pull Sirith after him Aragorn followed the mob of angry or curious townspeople to the gates and out of them where the ghastly scaffolding was erected. It didn't look like anyone had put a lot of thought into making it sturdy, Aragorn noted absentmindedly.

What he saw next made his heart constrict and go cold with sorrow. It might have actually broken, he wasn't sure.

A prisoner was being dragged through the crowd, but he was putting up no resistance. People struck out at him from many sides, catching him in his already damaged and bruised ribs, or hitting him in the face and head. He staggered but didn't fall, not yet. His long, tangled and dirty blonde hair obscured his face so it could not be read but Aragorn had a sinking feeling that it spoke of failure and despair…of surrender.

Legolas was so weary that he wasn't trying to avoid or deflect any blow from anyone and he was allowing the guards the lead him without the slightest hesitation. He wanted to die, Aragorn realized. He couldn't believe it, his heart was aching as he realized he was witnessing something that he never had thought he would see as long as he lived.

Legolas had given up completely. He could tell his friend was so tired. Tired of trying, tired of failing, tired of being miserable, tired of being tired. He was an absolute dead beat, Aragorn watched as he stumbled and was yanked up by chains that held his hands being his back. For a moment the wind blew his fair hair away from his face and Aragorn saw the pain on the features and the grimace as he took a few more faltering steps forward.

Looking over at Sirith, Aragorn saw absolute anger that wouldn't easily be cooled giving a sinister glow to the young soldier's eyes. It was then the ranger realized that Sirith and Legolas had truly been friends and the forty-year old smiled. He wasn't sure if Sirith knew it, but a human having that strong a friendship with an Elf was a real privilege. Aragorn had known it for years and at this moment, right now, he was terrified of losing it.

Glaring darkly from within the hood about his face, Aragorn watched as the men escorting his friend, simple guards it appeared they were, began to drag him to the stairs of the great platform. Legolas still put up no resistance and as a matter of fact, seemed to be slightly grateful. Aragorn could tell his friend was thirsting for peace like a flower for water in a bleak desert.

Up on the platform, Cortanyar looked at Dorrag. He was pleased and a bit…excited that his lord had decided not to delay this miserable Elf's execution. Dorrag seemed happier than he had in a long time which was probably a good thing if you were a member of his confidants. You wouldn't have to be overly worried about his changing nature for a few days.

Running his fingers along the long battle sword he held in his hands, freshly sharpened for the occasion, he glanced over at the Elf coming along rather nicely up the stairs. But he couldn't help but feel slightly disappointed when he saw the Elf's face washed in defeat but in relief and actually a hidden happiness. He had hoped to see this blonde creature shivering in fear.

The crowd was finally all around the scaffolding now and it was a real challenge for the many guards and sentries to keep them at bay. Dorrag smiled coolly, feeling suddenly more powerful than he had in a long time, having won the game. The Elf was going to die and that was a satisfying thought. The ranger's fate was unknown because according to who you asked he was either, alive, dead, lost and most likely dead, or beyond their reach. Either way, it didn't matter did it? Dorrag didn't see him here. Shame really, he wished the man could see his precious Elf die.

Aragorn looked around numbly, making sure his men were in their places. Nothing, absolutely nothing, must go wrong or it would be entirely at Legolas' expense and he had paid enough of the cost of things around here. With curiosity, Aragorn saw that Darcíl was position on the other side of the scaffolding, near Dorrag, so close he could kill him.

Seeing Aragorn watching him, the man winked slyly at the ranger and then turned his attention back to other matters at hand.

Aragorn didn't even see the wink, his own attention locked on Legolas was the Elf was hauled up onto the platform and nearly fell. He was so weak it made Aragorn want to weep but he had to be strong for his friend, he just had to.

The prince, who was looking rather bedraggled to bear that sort of title, was brought before Dorrag. Just so he can scoff at me, the Elf thought inwardly, giving the man the darkest and most belligerent glare he could come up with at the moment.

The response of the human was just as Legolas might have expected. A cold laugh of triumph and a gesticulation for the guards to make the Elf bow on his knees before his conqueror. Making Legolas go to his knees didn't take much effort on the guards' part, though they carried out the order with a great amount of vibrant zeal, kicking the back of Legolas' knees harshly so they automatically folded.

"You fell so hard Elf, you fell so hard." The ruler shook his head as he spoke. "Pity really, you could have died proudly, with your head held high, but well, you can barely keep on your feet. As you can see, despite all your efforts I won the game, Elf. You are going to die." He watched his captive's face intently, looking for any sign of fear or regret.

"You only think you won the game just as you are only a prince in your imagination," the chained Elf ground out between his grit teeth. Right now he was trying not to pass out from weariness and pain. He knew he was asking to be reprimanded before all these people but he was beyond caring. He was going to die, what more did he have to lose? As much as he was sure that Aragorn would want to save him, he highly doubted that the human could. He trusted Aragorn to try, but beyond that he couldn't find it within himself to put anymore faith into the ranger's plan.

"How so Elf?" Dorrag asked evenly, trying pathetically to keep a serene and cool face. "You are here, ready to die like a weak little vagrant. And your friend is most likely dead. There is no hope of rescue for you, not with all my men about you and me. This is the end, in case you didn't know." He laughed, but Legolas noticed his laugh was uneasy as though Legolas' words had surfaced some dark and gnawing doubt in his mind.

"You never found out my name and you never broke me, Dorrag the Arrogant! I am still very much alive in spirit and nothing you could do could force anything from me. You are a despicable coward and you are going to die!" Legolas spat, panting in exhaustion from his wounds and treatment. The men had been granted a moment or two to…play with him before brining him to his scheduled execution.

Legolas watched smugly as Dorrag's face turned an astonishing color of red and nearly went purple. It was slightly satisfying but Legolas didn't have long to take pride in it before Dorrag struck him across the face, knocking him to the floor where he lay a brutal and well-planted kick against his chest, breaking an old wound and causing him to cry out. He had tired not to, but everything had taken a heavy toll on his already over taxed body. His cries were involuntary and unstoppable.

Aragorn watched in horror, wanting to rush up there, however prematurely to his plan, and stop the abuse.

But he had to wait, he had to and so he was forced to hear his friend's cries.

"Do you want to be taken back to the cold cells and be put through the paces again, Elf? Because I can arrange that right now," Dorrag finished, eyeing the Elven prince as though he was actually considering it. "You know that within the hour you will have told me everything I want to know and we would be right back here again."

"I wouldn't want to be any trouble," Legolas answered back snidely.

Dorrag obviously had had enough of his victim talking back in the presence of all these people who were supposed to fear him. Glaring at the guards who had escorted the captive, the snapped, "get him over there and let's get this business over with. String his body up for the crows when you are finished."

Grabbing Legolas roughly by his upper arms, the men began to drag him to the center of the scaffolding with Cortanyar walking behind with his long and freshly sharpened sword. A gleeful smile was on the man's face and he looked more than thoroughly pleased with the situation. These simple townspeople were going to learn to fear him more than Dorrag and then they would see who would be ruler here.

Standing before the Elf, who was looking up at him with a peaceful look in his eyes, as though he had already crossed over, Cortanyar used the sharp tip of his sword to brush Legolas' dirty hair away from his neck and smiled coldly as he was already picturing Legolas' headless body. With Dorrag's permission he would keep the Elf's head, he decided. It would make a nice addition to his collection. Legolas just tipped his chin up and closed his eyes, waiting for the fatal blow.

He wasn't afraid, at least not of death. But he didn't want his eyes to spend their last few seconds of life searching for his body once his shoulders were relieved of his head. He didn't want to carry that memory to Valinor with him. He would rather think of peaceful things and bring those with him. Like the time Aragorn and Rothinzil had made him believe that there was a good sized spider in his hair, or the time that the reckless human had nearly been shot by him near the Emyn Duir. Yes, these memories he would take with him, memories of home, friends and family. He only regretted he wasn't able to tell anyone good-bye.

But then many things happened at once, causing the Elf to open his eyes incredulously. For a second he couldn't believe that the Valar were not playing with his mind.

A sword, or more accurately a scimitar was protruding through Cortanyar's chest from the back. Blood was running down the Harad man's chin but his filmy eyes showed he was already dead. This couldn't be happening, it just couldn't. Really this was impossible and yet here it was. Blinking in pleasant astonishment Legolas leaned backwards only to find a set of arms gripping him tightly but gently.

"Please! I can't very easily undue these blasted chains if you don't hold still," Aragorn's voice came from the back.

Smiling, Legolas answered, "on time but cutting it incredibly close, as usual. Pardon me if I am not surprised." He felt a small comfort even though he knew that they were not out of the woods yet. Fighting had broken out around them while peasants fled in terror. Realizing the full danger Legolas looked back at Aragorn and asked worriedly, "so what by Eru's name is going on and how are those manacles coming?"

Aragorn chuckled lightly as he worked to pick the nasty and rather rusty locks with his pair of shaking hands. He had come so close to losing his best friend that he had nearly died of fear. "Well, I created a little plan with the help of Darcíl and it is in action now." He accidentally jerked Legolas' chains a bit roughly, tugging against the raw skin and wincing when the Elf hissed quietly before answering.

His response was a bit stressed but calm. "You created the plan? Valar have mercy! We are all going to die!"

"Thanks for your confidence," Aragorn replied while looking up briefly from his work to see if Sirith was doing all right with his job of looking after he and Legolas' backs. So far the young warrior seemed to be doing quite well and defeating every adversary he was pitted against.

"Well you have to admit, your plans in the past…"

"You are being a distraction. I can't work," Aragorn grumbled as he skillfully used the piece of wire to manipulate the locking functions. He was grateful he had picked this thing up when he had entered the Valar cursed camp where his men were held.

Legolas went silent, observing everything and making judgments in his mind but not speaking them out loud. The sooner these cuffs were off the better.

Darcíl was fighting with Dorrag he realized with interest as he watched them cut and stab at each other on the side of the scaffolding opposite to he and Aragorn. However, you couldn't really call it a fight, Legolas realized because Darcíl was losing miserably. His weariness and depression over the death of his family was getting to him. Not to mention that his anger, which had served him well until now, was causing him to burn out. It had burned intensely but not lasted long enough to send him through the battle.

Wincing inwardly as Aragorn brushed against one of the more painful burns on his hands, not wanting the human to know he was causing him any hurt, Legolas occupied himself with keeping an eye on Darcíl and his fight with Dorrag. With dismay and slight pity, Legolas came to the understanding that this was a fight Darcíl was not going to win.

The Haradrim captain was backed up against the edge of the scaffolding, his sword raised about to split the skull of that bovine of a prince, but that was when time itself seemed to stop and even Aragorn stopped working on Legolas' cuffs for a moment.

Everyone appeared to watch the fight now, as though their lives rested on it, which practically, they did.

"I had thought I had gotten rid of you _captian_, but I suppose that I was wrong. Well, no matter, you are going to die now!" Dorrag shouted and then, taking advantage of Darcíl's vulnerability as his sword was raised for a killing blow, Dorrag plunged his blade into the other man's abdomen.

All Darcíl saw was the flash of the blade in the noon sun and then he felt a savage pain cut through his body before everything began to fade. His eyes caught Dorrag's and he noticed with anguish that Dorrag was smiling –laughing, like this was the funniest thing he had ever seen. Darcíl had to admit; it was something that he found odd, considering he had obviously never made an error this serious before and was quite the better fighter.

But he felt a strange peace flowing over him now as time seemed to pass him by and sounds faded as his vision began to go black. He was falling backward and yet he felt as though he was rising up, up into the air. For a moment he felt a jolting pain and then he felt nothing, nothing at all. He felt like he was numb and yet full of feeling, alive and yet so dead.

It was an incredible thing; so incredible he was wondering if the death he had always tried to avoid might not have been the best option from the get-go. But then he shook his head inwardly as he realized that every life had to have a purpose of some sort, so living was an honor.

Legolas didn't even realize he was screaming, which, he reasoned with a detached calmness, wasn't surprising when he considered everyone else was yelling as well and he could scarcely recognize his own voice. Aragorn was screaming right behind him and then, Darcíl fell. He couldn't believe what he had just witnessed, he wouldn't believe it! –But no, he had to. It was the truth and denial opened darker doors and gates to dangerous paths.

Darcíl was dead.

It was that simple.

But then again, it wasn't.

Legolas would have wanted him to die at one point, but strangely now, he didn't feel that way. The man hadn't been evil at heart, rather forced to behave evilly and only then to save his family. With his family gone he had done his best to live without them and do what he knew was right, now that he didn't have to worry about them. But his will was not as strong and his anger over took him.

His anger had cost him the battle.

Nothing was ever as simple as life and death, and yet nothing was any more complicated, Legolas realized. He had seen people die before, innocent and evil but not until now had the full reality hit him, not until now when he had seen whole battalions and regiments destroyed and heard their death screams had he realized that death was so distant and yet so close.

He was an Elf; he wasn't supposed to ever see things like this.

But like all Elves, he took part in the curses of the Valar.

Legolas had hardly realized Aragorn had picked his locks, and probably wouldn't have if the man hadn't called his name and asked him what in the world was the matter, why he wasn't getting up and preparing to fight.

But he felt so very tired. He actually couldn't truly believe how tired he felt. And his body hurt, his hands not the least. He didn't think he could grip the hilt of a weapon if he wanted to. If he were forced to, that was an entirely different matter.

'But,' he commanded himself. 'You must fight. Aragorn cannot be feeling much better and he is already doing double to make up for your lapse.' Grinding his teeth, Legolas bent down and picked up a disregarded sword, more like liberated sword, he thought, studying the hilt and realizing it was Haradrim make.

Looking over he saw Dorrag, running towards them with a perfectly insane facial expression. He had known that the man was _incapable_ of sane thought, but now he looked more maniacal than usual. It must be because of his rage, Legolas reasoned as he watched the human come bonding forward with his bloody scimitar poised to kill. He was running anyone, even his own men through, if they were unfortunate enough to get in his way.

Preparing himself for mortal combat, Legolas tried to get his mind to focus but images were merging and he felt like he was weaker than water. His torment had caught up with him for certain and his system appeared to be failing, having borne the brunt of more abuse than an Elven constitution could stand.

Legolas didn't even realize he had been shoved aside by a man in a battle with one of Aragon's soldiers until his knees bent and touched the boards of the scaffolding as his body utterly refused to comply, going into rebellion. Aragorn was locked in battle with a couple of the Haradrim soldiers and neither of the friends was able to come to each other's aid.

Sirith, faithful Sirith, looked over as he slew a Haradrim guard, happening to see Legolas on his knees, vulnerable to a mortal blow and more than defenseless in his position. Whirling around, the young warrior shoved men out of his way in a frantic dash to reach Legolas before anyone else.

He was nearly at his goal when something slammed into out of nowhere and he was almost thrown off course completely.

Dorrag rushed past, storming over to where Legolas was struggling to get up and hold a decent defensive position. Raising a foot, Dorrag placed it on Legolas' rib cage and forcefully slammed the Elf to the floor, pinning him there as he ground his boot into the battered ribs.

Legolas gapped, barely able to breathe let alone think as his pain doubled. How was it this man just wouldn't die and be killed by _anyone_? Why was this world cursed with his constant presence?

"Well, Elf, you have some powerful allies, I'll grant you that. But it doesn't matter. I am going to rip you apart!" he spat, kicking the prince in the ribs before he pinned him beneath the weight of his boot again.

Placing his sword over Legolas' chest as he rolled the prince over, the man mused with a cold and wicked chuckle, "now where shall I start? Taking out a lung or," he moved his blade down to Legolas' lower ribs, "shredding your liver?"

Legolas just shuddered helplessly. He knew it, three times was the charm and he was going to die. Closing his eyes he just prayed it would be in the first two minutes of his disemboweling, preferably the first two seconds. After all, he knew it was something he was going to like very much and he also fancied he didn't want to see what his entrails looked like before he died in excruciating pain.

Driving his sword into his opponent and giving him a hardy kick in the back with his foot, Aragorn swirled his gray eyes around as he anxiously looked for Legolas. He could feel his own body seeming to shut down and he knew Legolas had endured far worse than he had these past days. The Elf was just too weak plan and simple.

Catching sight of his friend's golden hair he realized that Dorrag had the Elf pinned to the floor and was standing over him with a naked blade, poised to kill.

But as fate would have it, many men came into his path, fighting like cornered animals and there was no break to get to his friend, who was lost in the sea like frenzy.

O0O

Having been welcomed to the palace a little while ago, Elrond and his sons sat comfortably before Thranduil in chairs in his throne room. Elladan and Elrohir were quiet and their faces were deathly pale with Elladan's being a little whiter. He was the older brother after all, this was his entire fault.

Elrond shook his head and bowed it in confusion. Nothing was making sense. "So for two years they have been completely lost?" he asked quietly, hardly knowing what else to say and feeling despair tug at his heart once more.

Thranduil shook his head in disbelief that Legolas had not been in Rivendell. "I didn't think he would run away but when he wasn't back in a day I had no other thoughts…no where to turn." He shook his head sadly. "I never meant to be so harsh to him."

"So we can only conclude that Aragorn and Legolas are together?" Elladan voiced, bordering on being out of turn.

Elrond gave him a disapproving and long suffering expression, causing Elladan to sink lower into his seat and exchange glances with his brother. "They are together, or I think they are dead."

"This is the kind of time when you wish you were given a chance to go back in time." Thranduil shook his head and stood up slowly, walking over to where there was a small window. Looking out it he finished sadly, "and you wonder what things you would have done differently, what things you would change, and what you would give to have that chance." He closed his eyes in anguish and then opened them slowly. "I wish that I had the chance to say so many things."

Elrond sighed wearily before speaking again. "Then we must trust in their friendship, that if they are alive it is strong enough to see them through and that they are together. Somehow I think they would be drawn to each other."

Elrohir asked softly, out of pure curiosity, "what was Legolas so distraught about that he ran away?"

Thranduil shot Elrohir an annoyed look and Elrond glared at him critically. This was not one of the more…subtle questions that Elrohir could have asked and really it wasn't entirely his business, Thranduil thought darkly. But he answered anyway, not having anything to hide. "Well he wanted to go down South, to Harad I believe. He mentioned something about Strider, and how he needed help." Thranduil looked absolutely exasperated. "The last thing Legolas needed was to go to Harad. We all know how our people are welcomed down there and rangers as well."

Elladan and Elrohir's eyes met and then Elladan spoke softly, "there is a war between Gondor and the Haradrim now. _Aragorn_ would have wanted to help _his people_."

"And Legolas couldn't stand the thought of him doing it alone," Elrohir finished for his brother.

"So they are in _Harad_ of all places? With their impeccable attraction of trouble?" Elladan seethed, clearly not liking his younger brother being even relatively in these circumstances. Harad! Mercy, was Aragorn mad and Legolas too?

"There is half a chance," Elrond said, his eyes connecting with Thranduil's. "Wars last a long time, two years is not overly much time."

"But we have heard no word, what if they are dead?" the Elvenking asked desolately, his eyes conveying more sorrow than he probably had meant for them to.

A few weeks ago Elrond would have been completely willing to mourn with Thranduil and say that, yes, they were dead. But not know.

His sons were showing so much hope and he just couldn't believe that they were dead.

He wouldn't believe that they were dead.

O0O

Sirith, after stumbling clear of Dorrag and spun around and looked with wide eyes for Legolas, who he couldn't find. Suddenly his eyes found what he sought. A blonde Elf sprawled upon his back with a sword tracing over his abdomen, making imaginary and taunting lines as Dorrag prepared to draw and quarter his mortal enemy. To the prisoner's credit he wasn't flinching and though his face was pale it wasn't entirely hopeless.

Clenching his sword even tighter, the young warrior began to hastily shove through fighting and dying men to get to the Elf. Legolas had saved his life before and now the turn was his. Brandishing his sword with bright anger flashing in his eyes he came up behind Dorrag, poised to run the wicked ruler through with this sword.

Legolas saw him but he also saw something that Sirith did not. Dorrag's eyes were swiveled backwards as he allowed a sadistic smile to spread across his face. He was perfectly aware of Sirith behind him and was playing along until the last possible moment. Then, he would strike and kill.

Legolas knew this but had no time to cry out, not time to do anything. He couldn't speak if he had wanted to with his mouth feeling numb and his mind registering shock at the slaughter taking place around him. He only seen these horrors a few times in his life and he could never get used to them.

As though everything was imaginary, Dorrag spun around, his blade low to the ground and before anyone could speak or do anything, he rammed it upwards and buried it deeply into Sirith's abdomen. The young warrior stumbled forward a few steps and then froze. Legolas grimaced as he screamed, knowing that in a moment the young warrior's mouth would become a fountain of blood and then the man…would die.

Sirith had reminded him of Aragorn so much in spirit and kindness that Legolas couldn't believe this was happening. Was Aragorn going to die as well?

Dorrag still had his sword buried nearly to the hilt in the young Gondorian and his dark eyes were bright with laughter as he gave it a vicious twist and watched Sirith's face contort in even more anguish and pain. Foolish Elf, thinking a little boy like this could rescue him. He might as well have wished for a sudden army from the Valar themselves.

Legolas watched as Dorrag relished the murder of Sirith. Legolas was tired, this was true. He wanted to die but at the cry from this young warrior that had accepted him when others had not something in him died as something else caught fire with such a fierce heat he felt life returning.

Looking around for a weapon, any weapon, just something that would slay this cruel man so the world could be rid of him and his carcass disposed of, Legolas saw a small dagger lying on the boards. If he wasn't mistaken this was the same dagger that had been tossed at him by Dorrag not so long ago. He didn't know how it had found its way back to him at this time of need but he supposed divine intervention deserved some credit.

And he had a promise to keep.

Struggling along the boards, dragging himself, Legolas reached for it, his fingers barely hooking on it and he pushed himself nearly beyond his limits before he was able to get a grip on it. One of his guards must have found it and decided to keep it for themselves, not uncommon among folk like this. But he didn't care. Dorrag was going to die, right _now_.

Forcing himself to rise to his feet, though his legs tried to forbid it, Legolas faltered forward a few steps and then, as Dorrag basked in his filthy and wicked glory, the Elf raised the blade. Suddenly he sneered, "Dorrag, turn around before you miss out on your chance to kill me."

Dorrag spun around, his sword being pulled from poor Sirith's stomach as he did, causing the young human to fall to his knees and crumple to the floor like a limp doll. Legolas nearly dropped his clamped jaw as he gazed at the life fluids running down Dorrag's sword and dripping from the tip. Shuddering, he barely had time to slide out of the way of the thrust from his opponent's weapon before he stabbed down.

Dorrag just stared at the knife in his chest before he pulled it free with a trembling hand, working to swallow the blood rising in his throat before the collapsed into a quivering heap on the floorboards of the scaffolding. It had been that simple, once chance, one knife, one stab, one life.

Legolas stared at the body of his former captor, unable to believe he was dead and that he would trouble him no more. But the prince felt weak and with what strength he still possessed he put all his efforts into staggering over to wear Sirith lay, dying.

The young man was shaking and his face was turning from a sick green to a bluish white while his mouth remained bright red. Scooping him up into his arms as he collapsed himself, Legolas cradled the dying boy's head with an arm and with his free hand smoothed his hair away from his brow. "You saved my life," he choked out, tears building in his eyes.

Sirith struggled to keep his eyes open and smiled slightly, reaching a shaking hand up to touch the tips of Legolas' pointy ears gently, as though he was afraid to cause the Elf more harm. "How many times…have you…saved mine? I am…only repaying…the debt…" he trailed off as his air ran out and he was unable to draw another.

Legolas pulled Sirith close, comforting the boy in death as best as he was able and wondering why he was allowed to live when this young one had to die. He didn't even realize that Aragorn was running and had skidded to a halt by his side, kneeling down and placing a strong hand on his shoulder for support. Blinking, Legolas felt the color of his face leave completely and then everything began to fade out.

He felt Sirith's body go completely cold as his spirit fled from his maimed body, dispersing into the air to find its way to wherever men went. In shock Legolas looked up at the sky, as if he could see it floating and dancing above his head.

Sirith had gone home.

Legolas became totally unaware of the fighting that was dying down about him and his eyes swirled over, falling upon Aragorn's tear streaked face that was staring down at him in anguish. Then, everything went black and he felt himself falling, falling and going into darkness, then there was nothing.

He couldn't see Aragorn's face. He couldn't see anything, and then conscious thought stopped.

Legolas was unable to hear Aragorn screaming his name, calling him back. He was blind to how the ranger collapsed to his knees and rapidly checked for a pulse, pained by his findings…

**TBC……okie dokie, one more chapter to go! Check bio page for review responses and a proposal from Viggomaniac about exactly how to go about them. (waves) Thanks for the idea Viggomaniac! **


	26. Matters of Regret

**_CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX_**

Matters of Regret

_Legolas' pulse was erratic and faint. Placing his shaking hand on the Elf's heart, Aragorn felt it beating rapidly, laboring with every pump of blood through his body. The prince's face had gone far too pale and his lips were changing from a faint reddish pink to an unhealthy blue. _

_Aragorn couldn't believe it. _

_Legolas was fading. _

_Not caring if Legolas could hear him or not, Aragorn desperately called to the Elf. "Legolas please, please come back!" He watched, as the prince remained motionless, lying on his back and his fingers went limp, uncurling as his body relaxed. He seemed so fragile now that his body was fading to a white color and his face seemed to show signs of aging. "Legolas please! I will do anything! Anything!" Aragorn begged his friend, who was unable to hear his cries. _

"_I can't go home without you," he whispered into the Elf's pointed ear as he leaned over him, feeling his pulse again. It was still there, though it was weakening. "Don't leave me now, Legolas. Not now. I saved you! Stay with me!" _

_The battle was nearly over and his men were allowing the retreat of many Haradrim soldiers who hadn't truly wanted to be a part of this anyway. As everything seemed to draw to a close, they gathered around Aragorn where he was crumpled by the motionless frame of Legolas. _

_Their captain seemed to be in a daze and he didn't even acknowledge their presence. "Sir, there is nothing you can do. He has been through so much…allow him the rest he craves." They didn't mean this in a discourteous or unthoughtful way, but they didn't know what else to say. They had to get out of Harad or they all would be dead. _

_Aragorn turned to them and then slowly, looking at his friend's body again, he stroked Legolas' dirty hair from around his face. Legolas should have never followed him here. He should have never allowed the Elf to come. Barely able to stand on his own, Aragorn slid an arm beneath Legolas' knees and then placed his other arm under the prince's shoulders, gathering him up so that Legolas' head was cradled against his chest. _

_Holding the Elf close, Aragorn began to walk towards the stairs of the scaffolding when a young boy, maybe ten years old, bounded up. "Sir, do you need a place to tend him?" he offered. "You can use our house. It isn't much but my mother is a healer. She can help." _

"_Sir," said one of the men. "This is insane. Are you going to sacrifice all the rest of us for one Elf that is at Death's Door?" _

"_Why are you doing this?" Aragorn asked the boy, ignoring his soldier. He had thought that they were hardly appreciated by the Haradrim and had expected to be killed by a mob of villagers, not this sudden kindness. Aragorn felt his body trembling as terror ate at his heart. He could lose his best friend forever and there was nothing he could do about it. _

"_My mother," the boy answered. "Said she wants to honor your bravery and that of the Elf. It is something to be respected," he explained. With his tousled hair and scrawny face, he looked like an older version of Mytra's son. _

_Aragorn didn't even ask his men's approval before he eagerly shook his head, willing at this point to try anything. _

_The Gondorian soldiers that were left looked at each other before hurrying to catch up with Thorongil, who was trailing at the little boy's heals. _

_Once inside the home of the boy and his mother, Aragorn was showed a place to lay Legolas down. _

_Gently placing the Elf upon the bed, Aragorn felt hot tears sting his eyes as in the dark of the house Legolas looked even more pale and his Elven glow was non existent. His chest was barely rising and falling as his lungs strove to get oxygen through his body. Grabbing some pillows nearby, Aragorn put them behind Legolas' head, trying to support the Elf in a way that would make breathing easier. _

_The soldiers filed in, finding places to lean on the walls as they watched the woman enter. She was lithe but not young and with her she carried a steaming pot of boiling water. _

_Aragorn watched as she took some dried Athelas, or as the Haradrim called it, Kingsfoil, and steeped it in the caldron. Then taking out a long knife, she stood by the Elf and began to saw away at the tunic given to him by Mytra, or what was left of it. It was already in tatters from the abuse of his recapture. _

_Once the tunic was removed they had to work quickly. _

_Aragorn was too tired to be of much assistance, despite his own talents in healing, so he settled down and watched intensely. To his dismay he could tell just how many ribs the Elf had without a second glance and he saw how thin Legolas looked, stretched out and relaxed on the soft mattress. He had always been lithe but never overly skinny, not like he was now. Dark circles were around the prince's eyes, giving him the look of a skeleton rather than an Elf-prince. _

_The woman narrowed her eyes in mild confusion and then looked at Aragorn incredulously. "He should have died a long time ago." Her voice was soft as she dipped a cloth into the hot water and began to cleanse Legolas' chest and abdomen of dirt, blood and grime, careful not to irritate any of his injuries or press on his broken/cracked ribs. _

_As she washed away the dirt the pale skin still looked mottled with dark bruises, especially over the places were during interrogation Sarchel had broken a rib. Aragorn didn't know what had happened to the man, but the was grateful that he wasn't around. _

_As Aragorn watched his friend's wounds being washed, he felt his heart bathing itself in guilt and regret. He knew it wasn't a mercy to try and bring Legolas back and that it would be better for the prince to visit Mandos' Halls and see his mother again. But he just couldn't bring himself to let go, he couldn't. _

_Once the wounds were cleansed, the woman threaded a needle and carefully began to stitch the deeper and more grievous of the frontal lacerations. Aragorn smiled remembering how Legolas had absolutely refused to allow him to apply stitches many times. He was beginning to wonder if the Elf didn't possess a fear of needles. Ah, well, he was unconscious now so at least he wasn't jerking the entire time. _

_Once the stitches were applied to the front, the woman motioned for Aragorn's assistance and together; they gingerly placed Legolas on his stomach so the procedure could be repeated on his back. All this finished, the woman swathed the Elf's ribs in gauze and wrapped bandages around them, tight enough to hold the ribs in place but loose enough to allow easy breathing. _

_Aragorn took a wool blanket and gently pulled it over his friend until he reached Legolas' neck, where, he suddenly noticed the bloody nick mark of a blade. That was how close Legolas had come to dying. Shuddering, Aragorn tucked the edges around the sleeping prince and bent over him to kiss his forehead, which was slightly warmer than normal. _

_Finding another cloth and soaking it in the Athelas water, Aragorn set it on Legolas' brow, hoping it would help bring his friend back. They had tried everything and so now they must wait and see if Legolas had the strength to pull through. _

_At his men's insistence, Aragorn had accepted what healing the woman could provide for him and then had taken a seat by Legolas' side, refusing to lay down as he talked everything over with his men._

All this had been about a week ago, Aragorn mentally determined, tearing off a bandage.

Aragorn looked over at the gently sleeping Elf-prince, who looked more peaceful than he had in days. The Elf had been unconscious for a long time, a few days, and then had wakened only to fall into a deep sleep. Aragorn and his men had carried the Legolas with them after healing him as best as they were able when away from the town and the talented healer. Aragorn was grateful he didn't have to forcefully have the prince pinned down to apply the stitches. He was afraid that would be more than Legolas could bear.

The people had been incredibly kind, providing them with spare cloaks and a few provisions to set them on their way. After all, the war had not been with the people, but with the soldiers, and Aragorn was more than willing to be friendly with the civilians.

Sighing as he watched the afternoon sun fleck Legolas' pale face, Aragorn remembered when he had dragged him off the scaffolding, folding him in his arms. Suddenly he saw his friend stir and stopping his own administrations to his wounds for a moment, he motioned to his men with a smile that the Elf was awake. Everyone stopped what they were doing, and to Aragorn's slight dismay, eagerly crowded around the fair being.

Legolas blinked slowly, feeling slightly confused as he discovered he was entirely _comfortable_. There was something soft beneath him and he was covered in an equally soft blanket. He also felt relaxed, unafraid and well. Unused to feeling such things, at least as of late, the Elf-prince was unsure how he should react to something of that feeling. Sinking further into the large and rather over stuffed pillows that he suddenly realized were really rolled up cloaks the Elf suddenly sat up.

He proved to have moved too fast and his head felt like it was whirling in the clouds. Many hands came and supported him to ease him back to the earth. A campfire flickered to his right and he started, crying out for Aragorn in his confusion, wondering if the human were all right and just what was going on.

There was a warm laugh and Legolas looked over to see Aragorn tending to his own wounds as he saw on a cloak spread upon the sands. "Thorongil?" he asked wearily as he yawned and observed the camp further. All around him seated patiently, were Aragorn's soldiers, watching him earnestly so that he would not hurt himself.

"So you think soldiers can confine me to a 'bed', Thorongil? How long have you known me? If the head healer of Mirkwood can't do it, what makes you think they can?" Legolas questioned and a smile danced on his face for the first time in what seemed ages. It wasn't as bright as it used to be, but it meant everything to Aragorn to see his friend smiling again.

Returning the warming gesture, Aragorn shook his head as he watched his friend discover the stitches placed in all his deeper cuts and the bandages on the others. "I didn't expect they could, but your wounds and weariness certainly will. You have been unconscious for a long time, we have tended you as best we could," he explained as to the poultices and other things covering his wounds.

It was then Legolas realized where all the cloaks had come from. The soldiers that had hated him not too long ago had given up their source of warmth to ease his traveling and healing. Looking at them with wide eyes of pleasant surprise, Legolas didn't need to ask; they knew what he was thinking.

"We were wrong, my good Legolas," answered one of them in a friendly and remorseful voice. "We let race stand in the way when it really should have made no difference. You have more than earned our respect, saving Thorongil's life and holding up under less…friendly circumstances. We were wrong to judge you before we knew you." The other men all nodded in agreement of studied the ground as though it was the most interesting thing they had seen in some time.

"Pardon me," interjected another, "but Captain Thorongil bid me have you drink this when you woke." One of the soldiers passed a cup with some strange smelling herb in it to the Elf, who accepted it cautiously and then leveled Aragorn with a glare. He knew that Aragorn knew he wouldn't make a scene about medicine taking in front of these men. Sly ranger…he would pay for this episode.

Aragorn read Legolas' thoughts in his eyes and chuckled as he watched the Elf down the bitter tasting potion with one swill, doing his best not make a face but not having much choice in the matter. "Relax Legolas, it's not poison."

The prince snorted skeptically before he set the cup on the ground. This wasn't adding up, none of it. "How did we get here, wherever here is?" he questioned, looking around at everyone before settling on Aragorn, who was frowning.

"Do you remember anything?" he asked cheerlessly, finishing his own administrations to his wounds. Legolas had been unconscious so that explained a great deal of his bewilderment.

Legolas crinkled his brow before he eased himself back down onto the 'mattress' of cloaks, only to feel the hands of the surviving men supporting him, making sure he didn't collapse and land hard. He didn't want them to know how the touch of their hands against him made him cringe inside, because he knew their gesture was only meant in kindness.

"I remember Sirith…dying…."His voice squeezed off as he realized the amount of casualties must have been extensive. "I remember that I killed Dorrag and that Darcíl is dead. After that my mind is blank."

Aragorn looked at his men, who seemed suddenly more sorrowful and less inclined to conversation. "Legolas, the battle was over shortly after you went unconscious. I came and gathered you up and things were finished. We were given supplies but promptly escorted from the city because they didn't have any more means to help us and couldn't afford to keep us among them for many reasons. There are only twenty of us left. We had heavy casualties, but Harad shouldn't trouble us for quite a few years."

"What of the children of Astroggen? And the women? Are they…dead?" he couldn't bear to think of all that innocent blood being spilled. Closing his eyes he remembered Mytra and her little son….

"That is unknown. Legolas, we couldn't find out, time was too precious. We would assume that they were alive." He cast his friend a sympathetic and comforting look. "They know their way around better than we do and I imagine that they are perfectly safe for the time being." _As are you mellon nin, as are you. _

Legolas didn't want to break down and cry in front of all these soldiers, but he had been through so much in so short a time and it all hurt terribly. Aragorn looked at his friend, knowing his emotional and weary state and seeing the look in his eyes of a dam about to break. Glancing at his men he said, "Go and gather more wood and see if we can't get a decent dinner tonight. There has to be a herd of deer somewhere."

With respective nods the men all dispersed into groups of four to do their captain's bidding, leaving the healing friends to themselves. Aragorn scooted over to where Legolas lay, looking up at the sky and the overhanging trees of the oasis they seemed to have found. His eyes were wet and he looked over at the ranger.

"Estel," the Elf whispered quietly as a silent tear freed itself of the corner of his eye. "Some of the things I have seen, some of the things I have been through…I, I thought only orcs were so cruel. And when your men shunned me, well it brought back some horrible memories. I-I never expected such kindness in the end. I came to be with you and help you, though I fear I have been more of a burden. And I thought certainly after all those casualties your men took they would hate me. What did you tell them to make them be so…kind?"

"Legolas, I didn't tell them much of anything. Just that you had been through a lot and hadn't broken for their sake as much as for mine. They know how you tired to save Sirith and his attachment to you touched their hearts as well. Legolas, these men had good in their hearts but just as your race if suspicious of ours we are of yours." He shook his head and reached a hand out to remove a tear from Legolas' cheek but was surprised when the Elf caught and held his hand tightly in his long fingers.

Smiling, the Elf asked hopefully, "So are we going home now, I hope?" He had had enough of war and of seeing men slay one anther to last a life-age though he would willingly go through it all again for his friend's sake.

Laughing at the glow returning to Legolas' body and the light flooding back into his friend's eyes, he squeezed the Elf's slender hand back. "Yes, just as soon as I get our discharge papers from the good Steward of Gondor we will be on our way." Disappointment but understanding touched Legolas' face and Aragorn continued. "Can you wait just another few months? I promise, nothing will contain us any further." He knew very well that Legolas didn't need discharge papers since he had never enlisted and come as a 'hired' spy. "I would appreciate your company and I have a hunch that your wounds are going to need my administrations for a while yet."

A smile crept onto Legolas' face, erasing the disappointment. "And who knows what new adventures we could have."

Aragorn looked at the Elf with a sloppy grin and shook his head. "Hopefully not for a long time."

**The End**

**The upcoming sequel **_"The Edge of the World"_** will be done after after **_"Ripples",_** being a bit difficult to write and a longer project . We would say it would be up by next summer but you never know what surprises life could have in store. :) If you haven't seen the preview go to our website and look at it. The actual picture will be up in August. **

**Namarie for now! Please review this last chapter! Thank you very much for all your support in this story! It made it a pleasure to write. ;) We had no time for review reponses, our greatest condolences but real life decided to make a timeconsuming appearance! We are glad you guys appeared to really enjoy chapter 25! Thanksfor all those flattering reviews! **


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